Hunters and Rangers
by theplanetmary
Summary: Crossover with Power Rangers: Time Force: When monsters from the future and team up with a vampire pack of today to terrorize Silver Hills, California it's more than the Winchesters and Celia can handle and they partner up with the Rangers.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey ya'll here's a little side by crossover fic of **_**Supernatural **_**and **_**Power Rangers: Time Force**_** I am co-writing with my kick-ass beta Sierra Nichole C.!! It was sort of a crack fic and has quickly spiraled into something sort of serious. And of course Celia is there! Takes place in SPN timeline after 'Jus In Bello'.**

**Authors: Co-written in half and half chapters! Sierra C. and me! Mary T.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own**_** Supernatural**_** or **_**Power Rangers: Time Force**_** (but of course Celia and all the concepts of the "Like Us" Universe are mine!!) **

**For those of you who don't know the plot of **_**Power Rangers: Time Force**_** here's the back story:**

**In the year 3000, the Red Ranger, Alex Drake, captured the mutant gang leader, Ransik, and celebrated that evening by proposing to his girlfriend, Jen Scotts; Jen was in charge of transporting Ransik, along with Katie Walker, Lucas Kendall, and Trip Regis, but after an ambush Ransik escaped. In the ensuing battle, Alex was struck down and died in Jen's arms, but not before he gave her the rest of the Chrono Morphers and sent her back in time after Ransik.**

**Upon arriving in the past, the Rangers discovered their morphers wouldn't work unless someone unlocked the red morpher, which was encoded to Alex's DNA. But some twist of fate, they met Wes Collins, who was nearly identical to Alex and managed to morph as the Red Ranger. From that day on, they fought as a team--aided by lone Quantum Ranger, Eric Myers --bringing in mutants one-by-one till facing Ransik once again.**

**Summary: The Winchesters and Celia take up a Hunt in Silver Hills, California where the citizens report attacks by 'monsters', when the monsters of the future and their leader Ransik team up with a vampire pack of the present its more than the Hunters can handle alone and they team up with the Rangers. **

**A/N: First time I've ever co-written a story, or done a crossover! I hope you guys enjoy this!**

…

**Hunters and Rangers**

"**There is never a time when a hunter is more dangerous then when he feels like he is prey…"**

**- Anonymous **

…

_**Twenty Miles Outside Silver Hills, California**_

_**6:20 A.M.**_

Sam Winchester blinked his eyes slowly open. He stayed still, letting his vision adjust and kept himself curled up in a tight ball on the front seat of the Chevrolet Silverado pick up. The thick layer of warmth hugged even tighter by the woven blanket that sometime during the ride Celia must have thrown over his hoodie and jacket.

Sam sniffed heavily and blinked, trying to get the gunk out of the corner of his eyes without moving. His shoulder length hair was sticking to the back of his neck with sweat. He could feel the thin sheen of it all over his skin under his clothes and the light flush in his face.

Sam coughed heavily and trained his sense towards the outside world. The engine was thundering under the hood, but it seemed to be idle just growling softly along. The radio was turned low to a local country music station. He heard the heavy breathing of the large German Shepherd dogs sleeping in the back seat of the truck cab; every once and a while one of them snorted and the clink of metal from their prong collars sounded over the music.

And rain. The sound of fat rain drops hitting the metal and glass of the Silverado and oddly loud somewhere above his head. Which to be technical was in the direction of the driver's side, he was literally curled up on the large cushion of the passenger seat. So the driver's door was open. Winchester training and instinct took over, her needed to find out if it was for reasons of danger or otherwise. Sam heaved himself up and twisted his head, his neck cracking from the strain and kinks suddenly getting straightened. His vision blurred for a second before clearing. The driver's side door was slightly ajar, like there had only been an attempt to close it for benefit of keeping most of the rain out. There was no fear of the Silverado being stolen with two large dogs and a Hunter in its confines. Reassured Sam dropped his head back onto the cushion and shifted, nesting down into the blanket and his layers of clothes, lifting and curling one arm up and hiding his face in the crook of his wrist. Sam's eyes shut and he heaved a sigh before drifting back towards unconsciousness.

It was useful having someone around that couldn't get sick. At least not from the common cold and stomach flu. It was even more helpful that that individual had a souped up, giant work truck with a roomy cab for a sick individual to retreat to recuperate and get away from a whinier than normal older brother.

Thank god for demon possessed, red headed ranchers.

Sam's drift towards sleep was interrupted suddenly when the driver's door opened fully, the truck gave a small lurch then settled with a snap of the door closing.

"Red?" Sam rasped his voice a broken croak.

"Hey big guy," her voice said with light tone and comfort deep in the words. "Ya feelin' any better?"

"Yeah, actually…I need a shower…." Sam muttered, his eyes fluttered closed when her palm settled gently on his forehead, a few hours ago her skin had felt unbearably cool. Now it seemed relatively normal, the barest touch of chill on the surface.

"Feels like yer fever's broken," Celia Northwind said happily, shifting over and leaning over him to look down at Sam. The younger Winchester flickered one eye open to look back up at her. Taking in her tawny, but scarred skin, the russet hair and the blood colored pools of her eyes set into her pretty, heart shaped face. The Saint Michael medallion Dean had given her hanging from its chain around her neck. She smiled gently at him and Sam managed a smile back.

"Hi," Sam sighed.

"Hey." She grinned wider. "Aw, Sammy's back. Welcome to the world of the livin', sweetheart."

"Leave me alone," Sam mumbled and turned his face into the skin of his arm and the cushion. "Don't tease me, I'm sick."

"No, not anymore! Yer recoverin' now so shut it!" She reached over and ruffled his hair playfully. Sam swatted at her but grinned. He always felt playful after coming out from under being sick.

"Come on, Red! Quit! I feel crappy enough as it is!"

"Alright, alright. Ya big baby. Here." She set a plastic bottle on the cushion directly in front of his face. Sam eyed the bottle of Seven Up before awkwardly cracking it open and slugging back several large gulps.

"I'll never figure out why that stuff settles the stomach." Celia shook her head and settled back in the drivers seat before shifting into reverse and easing the truck backwards.

"Where are we?"

"Just short of Silver Hills, California"

"That job where people keep mentioning monsters popping up from time to time?"

"The same."

Sam sighed. "Why couldn't it be something easier… like a freaking Wendigo or bear walker?"

Celia chuckled low under her breath and gently turned the radio up and pressed down on the gas pedal, the engine roaring and thundering louder under the hood. Sam's eyes started to drift closed and he swore he could hear the animalistic rumble of the Impala's engine somewhere just out of sight. Sam shifted, settling and quietly drifted back to sleep, his dreams lighter and far from the fevered nightmares from the last few nights.

…

"Hey, Sammy, how you feeling?" Dean Winchester asked, stepping up on the roll bar of the Silverado and leaning into the open window. The rain had stopped and the smell of damp earth and wet cement was refreshing in the air. Sam was happy to roll down his window and let fresh air into the stifling truck cab.

"Better," Sam sighed and pushed himself up and over, Dean stepped back dropping down off the roll bar to look up at Sam from the street. The younger Winchester hung his head out the window, his mop of brown hair giving him the image of a large, shaggy dog.

"Too bad, I was getting used to having the Impala to myself," Dean teased, easily hiding his emotions but the flash in his brother's green eyes made it clear to Sam that Dean was starting to relax now that Sam was perking up. Dean was always irritable and twitchy when Sam was sick, having his little brother heading back toward one hundred percent eased the tension in his shoulders and spine.

"Where's Red?" Sam asked, cocked his head a little. He'd missed the exit of the redhead.

"Getting coffee, can you stomach it?" Dean stepped around and pulled open the half door to the back seat and let the two German Shepherds drop down to the earth and stretch. Dean thumped his hand loudly on the sides of Valentine, the albino, and Buckshot, the black and tan, ribcage sides.

"Right now anything that isn't soup and Sprite sounds great," Sam grumbled.

Dean laughed, the relief a bell like noise in his chest and throat. Sam smiled slightly, glad he could inadvertently ease his brother's nerves. It was getting harder and harder as the year drew to an end to get Dean to relax, laugh and smile genuinely.

"She'll be a minuet," Dean assured and Sam yawned as he nodded.

…

"Trip, you need to have a little confidence. If you get shot down just try again, you know?" Wesley Collins urged gently. The young, teal haired alien shifted a little in his seat.

"I don't know…"

"Trip," across from him Lucas Kendall growled, looking a little fed up with Trip's lack of interest in flirting.

"The next girl that walks in here you're asking out. _Insist_ on it. Just flash her a smile and she'll fall right into your lap."

Trip Regis shot a look at the Blue Ranger then flashed his eyes nervously towards the front door of the café as it swung open and a smaller, slender woman stepped into the café seemingly right out of a western movie. Her skin was tanned a rich tawny color and russet hair hung loosely around her ears and shoulders, there was a hardened look on her face and in her eyes that immediately struck all three men as a reflection of what Jen looked like when she was on a mission. Everything about the woman screamed hard work in hard times. Her stride was hitched, a very slight limp on her right side. The exposed skin of her hands, fore arms, face and neck were marked with discolorations of faded scars. She was dressed in jeans, a white tee shirt and an unbuttoned green, white and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A thin silver chain hung around her neck was the only jewelry on her person and to top off the image a tan colored Stetson cowboy hat and Wolverine Combat boots.

She looked all the world like a hardened cattle rancher.

How right they were.

"Her?" Trip practically choked on the word, staring at the woman in minuet horror. His eyes never left her as she strode confidently up to the counter to order.

"Go!" Lucas hissed, snagging Trip's arm and practically throwing the smaller and younger man towards the counter. Trip stumbled but continued his progress, feeling Wes and Lucas' eyes on his back. He could mentally see the grin on the Blue Ranger's face.

"Maybe not the best choice," Wes growled to Lucas.

"Why not? Just another woman to cut his teeth on."

"Lucas, she's got a gun. Look!"

Lucas' eyes snapped from the slowly advancing Trip to the woman, her back to then she leaned a little over the counter. Her flannel and tee shirt pressing into her back and gave the faint outline of a fire arm holstered in her jeans waist band and the small of her back. Lucas's eyes roved downwards. He saw the leather straps and buckles wrapped tightly around her lower calf, the carved, bone hilt of a dagger clipped into place on the mounted sheath. If she had those two things there was no denying that she was probably armed other ways too.

"Oh no," Lucas muttered softly tensing up.

"Shit," Wes whispered. "Trip!" His stage whisper made the young alien twist sideways to look back at him but Trip shrugged him off and continued forward, sliding up next to her as the woman ordered. Speaking quietly in a drawling accent from somewhere in the South West.

"Three coffees and six of those thirty two cent doughnuts," she said to the barista.

"The doughnuts are eighty nine cents," the woman informed the redhead.

"Jesus, eighty nine? Helluva racket ya got…" the red head growled, clearly disgruntled.

"You still want them?" the barista asked.

"Yeah, six. Just the glazed," the woman muttered, her hand moving to slid into her back pocket. The movement lifted her shirts enough for Wes and Lucas to get a better look at the gun for a few seconds before it was back out of sight as she slid a thin wallet out of her jeans and leafed out a twenty dollar bill to put on the counter.

Trip cleared his throat loudly and she twisted to look at him. Trip's mouth went dry.

Her eyes were blood red.

"Hello," Trip managed.

She cocked an eye brow at him, looking a little skeptical but tried to be friendly. "Hi," she said before turning her attention back to the workings of the barista. Trip fumbled but pushed on.

"You're very pretty."

Her eyes snapped back to him and looked him up and down. "Thanks… yer hair is a nice shade of green."

Trip's hand rushed to his hair, threading his fingers in it under his hat. He relaxed a little, even smiling genuinely.

"Are you new in town?" Trip said with a small smile as the woman handed over her money in trade for the carton and small bag the barista handed her. The red head braced her hands on the counter and sighed heavily, she hung her head for a second and Trip's smile fell from his face as he heard her repeating under her breath the words 'be nice'.

"Look, I bet yer real sweet and smart and everythin'," the redhead said gently but firmly, twisting to look at him. "But trust me, ya don't want anythin' to do with this."

She motioned towards herself and took her change, coffee and food off the counter. She side stepped around the rejected Trip and walked stiffly back towards the door. Wes and Lucas both breathed a sight of relief. Their eyes still locked on the dagger and gun until she was out the door and walking towards a massive white truck in the parking lot next to a sleek black, classic muscle car.

Trip slowly walked back the table with Wes and Lucas, pulling his chair out to sink into it.

"So maybe she wasn't the most ideal 'next girl through the door'," Lucas teased.

"Sorry, Trip," Wes smiled at his friend and team mate before sipping his soda.

Trip stopped moving, tensing and his eyes flashed up to the door. Before his friends could stop him Trip

grabbed his jacket and rushed to the door, hoping she hadn't left yet.

"Trip!" Wes barked, scrambling after the alien. Lucas in a rush after him.

…

Celia stepped over to the Winchester brothers, talking quietly between the Impala and the Silverado.

"Soups on, boys." She passed out two of the three coffees and set the carton and bag on the hood of the Impala.

"Cup of caffeine," Dean rumbled happily, warming his hands around the Styrofoam.

"And doughnuts." Celia unfolded the bag.

"Here, please." Sam held out his free hand of the window and happily accepted two of the pastries and tore into them hungrily. Celia and Dean proceeded through their drinks and coffees with more delicacy. Celia leaned heavily back against the side of the Impala. Celia pulled out a doughnut and tore it in half to hand a piece to each of the dogs.

"What took so long?" Dean mumbled through a mouthful of coffee and pastry.

"Some kid was lookin' for an exotic for prom," Celia sighed.

Dean chuckled under his breath.

"Maybe you should give him a chance." Sam flicked his eye playfully to Dean, trying to find the jealously in the green that wasn't there.

"And risk statutory rape accusations? Pass."

Dean choked on his food. "He was that young?"

Celia nodded. "Either that or real baby-faced."

"And had green hair?"

Dean and Celia looked up at Sam.

"How'd ya know?" Celia asked.

Sam motioned towards the front of the café where the green hair teen and his two older friends where rushing after him. All three Hunters and the two dogs tensed and bristled. No Hunter liked the idea of someone advancing on them unwelcomed. Their lives, or in the case of the Winchesters and Celia, each others lives, could be the weight of the situation. The way the three young men moved rapidly forward was a threat.

Dean set his coffee and doughnut down, already tensing up for a confrontation. And it was clear on the other end, the way the green haired teen balked suddenly and the other two rushed forward to flank him, they were too.

"Dean!" Celia barked. The elder Winchester snapped his head around hard to look at her, she was looking dead at him but it seemed more like through him. Dean stayed still then he snapped his head around towards the sound of patrol sirens. Sam dropped his coffee and grabbed a hold of the roof of the truck cab, with an awkward twist and haul he pulled himself out to sit on the edge of the open window and see over the truck.

The three Hunters tensed and ground their teeth together as two patrol units and an ambulance suddenly hurtled around a corner and tore top throttle down the street.

"Five-oh," Dean growled, tensing.

"And they're haulin' ass," Celia muttered, she and the Winchester brothers look after the emergency units for a second.

"Ambulance means someone's alive," Sam muttered, just low enough under his breath for his brother and Celia to hear.

"Move!" Celia snapped rushing around towards the driver's side of the truck.

"Let's go!' Dean barked, shooting a glare at the three young men before grabbing the food off the Impala and tossed it inside. Sam gave a small scramble, hauled his weight out through the window of the Silverado and dropped to the earth, hauled open the door, letting the two German Shepherds back inside before snapping it shut. Sam then rushed to the passenger seat of the Impala. Both engines roared to life and scrambled, reversing and hurtling after the emergency units.

…

The damp grass prickled her bare skin as Jen Scotts lay down on her back and concentrated on taking deep, refreshing breaths after her morning workout; her legs shook and her gut ached with a deep cramp, she couldn't see but could feel her face flushed a bright red. As usual, she wore minimum clothing while exercising-- a sports bra and baggy pants -- but she still felt like she was trapped in an oven. Her throat hurt, her ears were ringing, her thick, dark hair stuck to her forehead in wet clumps. To some it would be a miserable way to start the day... but to Jen, it was perfect. She wanted the pain. She wanted to feel it. She wanted to know she was doing everything she could to stay in top shape so she could take down Ransik and every mutant he sent her way.

A footstep crunched in the ground behind her and she sat up, spinning around in one motion.

"Sorry," Katie Walker said, sheepishly, "didn't mean to startle you."

Jen shrugged one shoulder, standing up and accepting the offered bottle of water from Katie. "It's fine," she said, " . . . what's up?"

Katie smiled patiently at the young woman she had known since their childhood together, an act that secretly infuriated Jen. God, she hated being patronized. Katie seemed to sense Jen's annoyance and quickly amended: "Nothing's wrong, Jen. I just thought you could use a pick-me-up... you've been out here for two hours."

"I needed to work off some steam," Jen replied, taking a swig of the room temperature water and smacking her lips, enjoying the cool running down her parched throat. "Where're the guys?" she asked, wiping the beads of sweat from her brow.

Katie chuckled. "Wes and Lucas took Trip out to Nina's Cafe," she answered, "said they were gonna convince him to finally ask a girl out... even if it killed them all."

Jen cracked a smile. The thought of the painfully shy Xybrian being corraled around by the outgoing, charming Wes and Lucas was amusing, to say the least. "Well, I hope they don't force him in over his head," she said.

"Aw, I'm sure he'll be fine."

Jen nodded, beginning to walk alongside Katie as they made their way back to the Clock Tower, where the team of Rangers had been staying ever since their arrival from the year 3000; Wes' father, the business tycoon Alan Collins, owned the property but hadn't used it for anything in the ten years since he had purchased it. He had only recently become of _their _usage of it. The building was old, far over 100 years, but it was sturdy and it stood its purpose for the team... better yet, Ransik was completely unaware of it.

Jen paused after entering the Tower, letting out a small groan. Downside to the building? The ridiculous amount of stairs one had to climb in order to reach the top. Her already exhausted legs felt like lead by the time she came into view of their living area-- a dull, dimly-lit room with a picnic table, ratty couch and TV in the center. Over to the side, a large container they had acquired and used to store the mutants they had already captured. A small ladder led to a loft where all the cots were-- Jen and Katie shared one, while the boys piled into three of their own.

She glanced at the clock. "When are they coming back?" she wondered aloud.

"Who knows? How long do you think it'll take Trip to work up the courage?"

"A week... maybe more."

Katie laughed as she bent over and put the bottle into the refrigerator, Jen slumped down onto the couch, taking a long breath; absently, she fingered the white gold ring on her finger, smoothing her thumb over the diamond. The act didn't go unnoticed by Katie, who watched her friend sadly for a moment, recalling Jen's excitement the evening her boyfriend, Alex Drake, had proposed; Jen had been glowing, her eyes sparkling, it was everything she had wanted ever since she was a little girl. Now Jen's face changed, her eyes grew dark as terrible memories came back, and Katie knew she was back in reality... the reality was Alex hadn't lived long enough to marry the woman he loved, Ransik had brutally beat him down and he died in Jen's arms. She didn't have time to mourn him, to bury him, before she and the others raced after Ransik in one of Time Force's timeships, each equipped with a Chrono Morpher and Jen in possession of Alex's; little did they know, their morphers were useless without someone as the Red Ranger.

Katie shook her head. It still amazed her, even months later, that they had ran into Wesley Collins the day after arriving in the past-- a man who shared nearly all the same physical traits as Alex, and apparently, the same DNA. They had given him the morpher, he unlocked it with his DNA by morphing into a Ranger, and ever since that day a couple months ago, they had all been a team. Sometimes, Jen could be seen watching Wes longingly, imagining away his blond locks and replacing them with Alex's severe, slicked-back, black hair. Even their voices were the same. Katie couldn't fathom the amount of pain Jen went through every time Wes opened his mouth to speak, her flashed one of his heart-warming smiles in her direction.

Jen's morphed bleeped suddenly, and a tiny figure of Wes appeared, speaking urgently: "Something's going on downtown, Jen. Meet us at the plaza."

"We'll be there." Jen nodded, shooting a look at Katie. "Let's go!"

…

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hunters and Rangers**

**Chapter Two**

**...**

**_Recreational Park, Silver Hills, California_**

_**6:45 AM**_

Celia glanced side ways towards where Dean was chatting it up, and basically bull shitting the first responders on the scene. She twitched her head towards the ambulance where Sam's fake FBI identification earned him a few seconds with the teenage victim that was rapidly bleeding out and being fed new fluids. The teen's badly lacerated side and torn throat were enough to make the paramedics jumpy, much less letting the half dead kid talk bleary eyed to a stranger. FBI badge or not.

But what the brothers were doing was necessary. At the very least they were keeping most of the officers and investigators distracted. No one really threw her a second glance. Celia maneuvered casually through the crime scene. Her working boots crunching softly in the still wet grass and snapping any small twigs caught under her weight.

The way she moved and walked, with clear confidence and experience, warned off anyone that would have questioned her, even if they were older than her and wore a badge on their chests. And every step Celia took she was quietly scenting the air, drawing in the lingering odors of men, women, blood and wet earth.

Her heightened senses drew everything in on a level that any CSI would have envied. Sometimes…only sometimes….being possessed by a demonic force had its perks.

There were six markers for six dead and a seventh where the survivor had collapsed. The little group of teenagers from the near by high school had decided to romp around the park last night, setting off small fireworks and of course attracting enough attention form whatever beastie they were dealing with to get them all killed. Celia got a quick scent off the kid on the stretcher. He might last another hour or two unless there was some kind of absolute miracle on the kid's part.

It would have to be one Hell of a miracle.

Well, maybe just and act of Hell if someone knew what they were doing.

Sometimes it helped to have someone close to you that knew the ups and down of the supernatural and paranormal. Celia personally knew three or four particular medicine men or witch doctors that could have easily saved the kid's life for the right price in blood or ammunition.

Celia shook off the thought; she needed to get back to the job. She moved deliberately through the park terrain, easing towards the most unsupervised tarp covered body. Even the medical examiners were steering clear of it. Must have been one Hell of a kill.

So that was the carcass she wanted, Hunters always steered towards the more mutilated bodies, they displayed the signs better. Celia had a particular idea of what they were dealing with already but she needed to see one of the kills untouched by 'professionals' to confirm it.

The smell of death and rot was strong enough she probably didn't need to have a look at the dead kid, but what the Hell?

She hadn't had her fill of dead bodies for the day yet.

Celia glanced down at the numerous shoe tracks sunk into the still wet mud, some of them by the amount of water collected in the tracks, told her were a few hours old. About the same time that the teens were slaughtered. Celia ground her teeth together and flared her nostrils, if she could have she would have pinned her ears back and barely resisted the urge to curl her lips and bare her teeth. She moved on to the weakly held down tarp, eyeing the way that the officers weighted it down with a couple of bricks. Celia didn't bother to flick her eyes around, just stepped over and used a boot to flip one of the bricks off the edge of the tarp. She hooked her boot under the plastic and easily kicked it up and out of the way, the tarp caught the wind and snapped loudly with a crackle of plastic and folded over itself to expose the body down to the waist.

Celia crinkled her nose and sneezed at the over welming smell of decay before she shook it off and studied the body with a trained eye.

The person that had been a teenage male a few hours ago had all but been ripped apart. Her chest was cracked up and open, ribcage broken out and spread towards the sky. Muscle and flesh was ripped cleanly away from snapped bones, clothes shredded and any color they had been was now stained black and rust red. The teen's head was arched back awkwardly, a clearly snapped neck, the flesh of his throat had been ripped out, in some places reaching up towards his cheek bones as the majority of his jaw had been broken and torn out of join with the skull. It hung, almost comically in a bloody grin simply because the lower half of the kid's face was missing. And any skin that had been spared was waxy, almost paper like and thin, more stretched over his skeleton than protecting it.

The teenager looked very much like a huge, hungry dog had chewed on him mercilessly for a while.

"Someone went a little over board." Celia muttered looking at the mutilated kid, her nose twitching and she sniffed, trying to ignore the sounds of flies buzzing here and there. The carcass had been lying around long enough that nature had already taken a step in.

"Guess they'll have to cremate ya right? Or make a plastic face." Celia sighed with her own morbid humor. She reached up and straightened her Stetson cowboy hat then squatted down on her heels and roved her eyes over the mutilation, drinking in every inch, looking for the smallest clues. Especially around the neck.

There was something half hidden under the kid's exposed spinal column in his neck. Celia reached out fearless and hooked her fingers under the back side of the carcass' upper teeth and lifted. The bones and flesh made a sickening crackle and hiss as it moved but Celia didn't even seem to notice. She reached with her free hand and lifted a small, sliver of white off the blood soaked grass.

She dropped the skull with another ugly crunch and inspected the sliver of white between her fingers for a few seconds before grunting under her breath, palming it, standing back up and slipping it into her jean's pocket. She rolled back her shoulders and turned, almost walking smack into the wide chest of a tall and heavily geared man. Celia blinked and looked up at him.

The man glared down at her through dark, aviator sun glasses, his face shaded by the bill of a rounded hat embroidered with the letters CGB. His large square jaw was locked. Celia snorted and grinned slyly, she had seen enough want to be Marines in her life to look the kid up and down and know in a heart beat that he not only was possibly a reject but on the bottom of the public safety totem pole at being hired security.

Rent. A. Cop.

"Pardon me." She said calmly and moved to step around him. He side stepped in front of her and Celia immediately tensed up and locked her jaw. She rolled her head back and looked at him, making it clear that she was unhappy with the close quarters he was enforcing.

"Somethin' I can help ya with, son?" She said calmly.

"You just took evidence from a crime scene." He rattled out, it almost sounded automated.

Celia's smile cracked, twisting into a grin, she licked her teeth for dramatics. "Ya sure 'bout that?"

"I watched you do it. Put the evidence back and you're under arrest for tampering with a criminal investigation." The kid growled, his gaze intensifying behind his sunglasses.

Celia chuckled low in her throat and grinned again.

"No." Celia started to push passed him and the man snapped out, grabbing her wrist and hauling her around. Celia's head fell back and she let out a tired sigh, as if completely unsurprised but annoyed with his actions.

"You're under arrest." The kid growled.

"Citizens arrest…" Celia snorted, dropping her head forward and shaking it a little, then brought her blood colored eyes up and locking with his behind the glasses. "Let's review, shall we? First ya walk up behind me, give me no personal space, accuse me of somethin' without grounds, ya talk threatenin'ly to me, have no idea if I have authority over ya and simply assume I don't over the fact that I'm a woman and dressed the way I am, yer bigger, heavier, and a male over my female. And on top of that pile ya grabbed my arm in a threatenin' manner."

Celia motioned towards her wrist where the kid's grip was trying to bite into her skin and muscle.

"This? This one was the bad idea." She shook her head and gave her captured arm a tiny shake.

Celia smoothly twisted her arm in the kid's grip and wrapped her fingers around his wrist and breaking his grip at the same time. She wrenched with all her weight and demonic influenced strength and jerked his arm forward and twisted it into a disabling painful position. One more jerk and she would snap all the tendons in his elbow. Celia shoved expertly, lifting a leg and bending to snatch the dagger strapped to her calf before she slammed the boot into the kid's gut and forcing him to spin around.

The kid's teeth ground together, he snarled loudly and reactively slammed his elbow deep into Celia's gut. She crushed a bark of pain and braced when the kid repeated the action. His free elbow glancing off her ribs and softening the second blow into her abdomen some. He shoved his weight back, trying to off balance her and for a second it seemed that the kid was going to get a chance to take control.

With an ugly growl deep in her throat twenty one years of training and experience -- and a surge from the powerful demon deep within -- kicked in and Celia expertly bent and pinned his arm behind his back, kicked out the backside of his knees and sent him down into a kneeling position. When his free hand snapped out instinctively to stop his fall Celia swung her boot forward and pinned his wrist to the ground under her foot. Effectively pinning all his limbs at the same time. She spun the dagger over in her hand swung it around and pressed the flat side of the blade into the sensitive skin of his throat, forcing his head back.

The blade wasn't cutting into his throat but the threat was very clear.

The kid froze, gasping sharply at the pain flashing up his wrenched around elbow, the wrist pinned to the ground and the blade at his throat making his heart beat rise. Celia sighed, sounding incredibly annoyed and she licked her lips before bending at the waist to speak into the kid's ear.

"Learn how to read some one before ya pick a fight, son." She growled. The insult burned the kids pride and he jerked in her grip, she responded by twisting the knife and pressing the sharp edge of the blade into his throat, just enough to draw a gasp from him and a thin line of blood from the fragile skin.

Celia growled warningly in his ear.

"Be more careful, or yer bound to find someone that'll be quicker than me to cut ya a new grin." She snapped and suggestively grazed the blade across his skin up to where his jaw bone connected to his neck and ear then back to the other.

"Ear to ear, got it?"

The kid didn't respond, just locked his jaw and snorted through his nose. Celia pulled the blade away and kicked him squarely in the back; putting most of the pressure on his spine and making him cry out and collapse to the earth, writhing as pain spasmed up his assaulted back bone.

Celia slipped the knife back into its sheath and stepped over the kid and stalked swiftly across the crime scene towards Dean and Sam. Both Winchesters had watched the exchange warily from the beginning; they fell into step next to her smoothly, like they had been walking for a while.

"Got anything?" Sam asked casually as if she hadn't just assaulted a security officer with a weapon and cocked an eyebrow at her. Celia dug into her pocket and passed him the small sliver of white enamel. Sam lifted it to his face and studied it.

"Shit." Sam snapped and buried the sliver of enamel into his own pocket and jogging passed Celia to get to the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean and Celia walked side by side the rest of the way to the Silverado and black muscle car.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"These things have got to be rabid the way they tore those kids apart."

Dean nodded solemnly broke away from her to head towards the driver's side of the Impala.

…

The young officer slowly regained his pride, and his footing, seething with anger and damn well nearly hyperventilating he was so pissed off at the woman; she had looked at him the same way everyone had his entire life, with disgust, as if he was the scum of the Earth. He had seen the way she regarded his Silver Guardian uniform as nothing better than a mall cop's, how she looked at him as merely a young boy who knew nothing about life in general. She had him figured out and she didn't even know his name yet.

_Goddamn bitch._

Eric Myers stood silently with his powerful arms folded over his chest, shooting daggers into the back of the redheaded woman who was walking away alongside two, twenty-something men, headed for a new Silverado in long, determined strides; but now the anger that had been bubbling within him was steadily dimming and he was filled with confusion and... perhaps even a little respect. No one had ever been able to get the best of him like that. Especially not some woman.

Any amount of respect was not about to keep him from doing his job though. Eric swiftly pulled out a pen and paper and jotted down the license plate numbers of the Silverado and the classic Impala; he was going to find out where the hell they had come from, and why they were interfering with his job.

"Eric!"

_Wes. _With a snarl, Eric whirled around and stalked to his dark SUV, ignoring the Red Ranger as he jogged over, closely followed by the rest of his brightly-clad team. "Get out of here," he snapped, "this is none of your business."

"What happened?" Wes demanded, reaching out to grab Eric's arm only to be roughly pushed aside. More calmly, he asked: "What's going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Eric stated, firmly, "no _mutant _did this... now move." Without another word, he opened the door of his vehicle and climbed inside, revving the engine briefly before driving off; Wes chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then turned to Jen, who was surveying the crime scene, her face hidden behind her helmet. He wondered what was behind that mask...

"Did you see that woman?" Katie suddenly asked, "She had Eric pinned in five seconds!"

Wes nodded, glancing over his shoulder in the direction Eric had driven off, and before him, the mysterious woman and her friends. "I've never seen anyone do that," he said, softly, "not even back at school... " his voice drifted off, then he broke into a grin and patted Trip's shoulder. "Guess it's a good thing she ran off before you could put your moves on her again!

_"That _was who you went after?" Jen said, incredulously, "What were you thinking?"

"It wasn't his fault," Wes volunteered, "we told him he had to go for the first woman... " he sniffed the air, crinkling his face in disgust, "... who walked through the... what the hell is that _smell?"_ The wind had shifted, and his nostrils were being assaulted by the most disgusting, foul smell he had ever experienced; the other Rangers noticed it, too, and Trip nearly gagged it was so strong to his heightened, alien senses.

"Hey-- " Jen reached out and grabbed the arm of a Guardian as he hurried by "-- what's going on?"

"Someone butchered a bunch of kids," the Guardian answered coolly, "doesn't look like your kind of gig."

"Who were those people that just drove off?" Wes jumped in, "a woman and two men."

"FBI."

As the man jogged off, Jen and Wes faced each other, the former speaking first: "FBI my ass. What kind of agent drives around in a classic sports car?" She growled under her breath. "I've got a bad feeling about them, that's for sure." She rubbed her gloved hands together for a moment before gesturing to Lucas: "You guys can go on back to the Tower, I'll check out the scene.

"I'll stay," Wes volunteered.

"Not a good idea, Wes," Jen countered, not even hesitating as she strode toward the tarp-covered bodies, "this is pretty ugly." As if to prove her point, the wind picked up and blew on the edges of the tarp up, revealing a mangled leg that was instantly covered in flies; Jen gulped, and Wes gagged, swallowing vomit and feeling his stomach twist. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and only one thought remained in his mind once the shock disappeared...

_Who did this? _

. . .

"Daddy?"

Ransik grunted in response to the light voice he heard from behind him, then turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway, her bright pink hair laying over her shoulders and her long fingers fiddling with each other nervously. When had his own daughter become frightened of him anyway? Sighing tiredly, he asked: "What is it, Nadira?"

"There's a... man, here to see you."

He frowned. "A man?"

"Not just a man," Nadira corrected herself, "he's a... well... a vampire."

At first, the statement brought on a fit of laughter from Ransik, starting deep within his chest and then coming out in deep, menacing growls and snorts; then, a step sounded on the cold, metal floor and Nadira gasped softly, then a thunderous, slightly French-accented voice rolled out:

"You're Ransik?" and he spun around to glare into the face of a young man, no older than thirty, who stared back at him with shocking, pale blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Ransik snapped, "how dare you-- "

"Save me," the man said, seemingly amused by the much larger man's fury, "I don't have time to listen to you rant... I have a proposition for you and I'm not going to spend all day trying to convince you to listen to it."

"A proposition?" Ransik spat, "What do _you _have the could possibly interest _me?" _The man was being absurd, he was sure of it. Why, Ransik had employed the most dangerous mutants ever known to mankind! Ruthless killing machines that wanted nothing more than to destroy humanity and the world they lived on, and had the strength and firepower needed to do so. The man standing before him was clad in black jeans and a tattered leather jacket, no weapons on him save for his fists, and judging from them they couldn't inflict much damage anyway.

But then the man smiled, and Ransik's blood ran cold.

A set of razor-like fangs descended from the man's gums and covered his human teeth, creating a chilling image only emphasized by his cruel eyes and pale skin. Suddenly, he seemed a whole lot more useful. Ransik slowly smiled.

"My name is Dominique," the man spoke, "and you and I are going to take over this city."

**...**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chpt. 3**_

…

_**Silver Guardians HQ, Silver Hills, California**_

_**7:30 AM**_

The doors slammed as Eric stormed into the reception room, the snarl on his face warning everyone to stay far away; and so they did, watching with wary expressions as he continued on his way to his office, ripping the red beret from his head and crushing it with his large hand, his combat boots echoed with each step on the cold floor. He didn't even notice the pretty young woman standing outside his office with a bright, perky smile on her face; she frowned in disappointment when he brushed by her without a word and disappeared behind the door.

The computer always took forever to load and he tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited, his dark eyes bore into the bright monitor, watching the icons pop up one-by-one. When the process was complete, he leaned forward and swiftly typed in the letters and numbers that were on the back of the plate on the Silverado, tense with anticipation, curiousity practically oozing out of him. A good thirty seconds passed before the computer beeped loudly and pulled up a picture of a man in his mid-30s, largely built, dark hair and gray eyes. Instantly, a vivid memory flashed before Eric's eyes...

... _Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Eric had been stationed there ever since his graduation from boot camp three months prior, and so far found the military life suitable for him, certainly moreso than the civilian world; the discipline was refreshing, the level of dedication to their career was admirable in his fellow Marines, and-- while he couldn't see himself befriending any of them --he had to admit he had a grudging liking for many of his comrades. _

_Classes ended at 1700 hours and the Marines were promptly released for the day, sending dozens of young men out into the surrounding city for alcohol and women... but not Eric. Instead, he changed into his PT uniform and headed out for a long run, anxious to work off the day's frustrations with a good sweat. He was going by the MWR building-- where the computers and phones were --when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped outside, adjusting his patrol cap. He wore the rank of a Staff Sergeant, and carried himself like he was a Colonel. Eric didn't recognize him. _

_"Marine," the SSgt. said, simply._

_Eric glanced at the tag on the front of the Marine's uniform and noted the name-- Greer --before nodding and saying quickly: "Staff Sergeant."_

_Eric turned forward again and missed a step in his stride, tripping and heading straight for the ground. Eric mentally braced himself for the impact when he was sharply yanked back and steadied by a large hand wrapped around his bicep and one on his shoulder. Eric locked his stance and took a deep breath, shaking off the vertigo and twisted. _

"_Easy…ya okay, kid?" SSgt. Greer asked in a smooth southwestern accent, gray eyes a mix of concern and good natured amusement._

"_Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." Eric didn't make an attempt to put space between himself and the Staff Sergeant until the larger man let go of him._

"_Settle yer pace." SSgt. Greer advised with a small smile, touched his hat the same way that cowboys did in the movies and started walking away. Eric watched his back for a few seconds then continued on his way; confused by his own reaction and the Staff Sergeant's words spinning in his head. There was something about the SSgt. that struck a chord with him, and whether it was the older man's clear sense of calm pride, or the fact that he obviously had Native American blood running through his veins, or something else, he didn't know. All he knew was that he wasn't soon to forget SSgt. Greer..._

"Son of a bitch," Eric muttered, staring at the screen in disbelief as he tried to take in the information listed there. Elijah Greer. Thirty-four years of age. A towering 6'7" tall and 209 lbs. And, without a doubt, the very same Staff Sergeant Eric had encountered three years ago while he was still at Camp Lejeune, even before his first deployment. What were the chances he would pop up again? _And who the hell is that chick? _

A little more digging brought to light a DUI Eli had been slapped with a week before he shipped to boot camp, but otherwise a clean record; and when Eric looked him up as a Marine, he discovered Eli had served as a Spec Ops Marine for over ten years, had three deployments under his belt, and a good amount of awards to show for it and climbing though the ranks of the Marine Corps. He was also an Expert marksman and graduated top of his class from boot camp at Parris Island. But as impressive as Eli's record was, it still didn't clear up who was driving the truck licensed to him.

The Impala's license plate didn't yield any better results. Instead of one of the two men he saw that morning, a picture of a middle-aged, Asian woman appeared. One thing was certain. They were _not _FBI agents.

. . .

It wasn't an unusual thing for the Winchesters to draw the most attention in a general area. Either because they were laying a beat down on someone or something that had picked a fight with them or it was just their looks and presence. The patio of a local restaurant where they had finally stopped to get a meal was no different.

The brothers had an air around them that lingered with a feeling of both protection and danger. Both over six feet in height in a world that the male average was a little passed five, their long spines completed with broad shoulders and wide chests. There was something in the air around them that lingered like a natural warning, telling some to keep away and others to stick close.

Just because it was typical didn't mean that either brother enjoyed the scrutiny at all. They had been trained since childhood to stay out of the public eye and attention; to go unnoticed. Winchesters preferred the shadows. Thing was with six brutal murders very near by, everyone that wasn't a familiar face was under scrutiny. So they did their best to ignore the suspicious looks of some and the admiring looks of others.

Again, as usual, most of the female population were either creating fantasies about one brother or the other while others will still trying to choose which one to have fantasies about.

Sam was four years younger, but taller than his elder brother by a good three inches. Though he didn't seem it, as he was always hunched over research; either his laptop or thick dusty books in languages that had been dead for centuries. His shaggy mop of brown hair made him seem even younger, but his age and then some was written in his cerulean eyes and the scars on his skin. Sam had the lingering feeling of childhood and innocence that the bare threads were still clenched in his fist. He had a spark in his eyes, a calm and gentle tone and a smile that could melt others will to what he wanted and needed with a breath.

Dean was the polar opposite of his brother; shorter, rougher, harder than his little brother. His dark blonde hair always cropped into a military like cut and he forever had a five o'clock shadow. While Sam hid his emotions Dean's were worn visibly. He was unpredictable, flashing from playful and casual to vicious and even violent. The deep set, green eyes could burn and send shivers down the spine or make someone trust him without hesitation. And like his brother his story was carved in scars on his hide and heavy in his eyes.

It was that sense of lingering danger and mystery that sucked in the attention, appreciative looks and glares to stay away.

The brothers ignored them or tried to. Dean kept his hands busy, a nervous habit that if he sat still to long would send him into making odd noises and complaining. One hand was methodically scratching the fur and muscle around the albino German Shepherd sitting at his side. Valentine's head was laid casually across his thigh and keeping his bright blue eyes shut, ignoring everything but Dean's hand.

Dean's other hand was busy with a yellow highlighter and a local newspaper. His eyes raced over the obituaries, circling and highlighting anything that looked unnatural in nature.

"Anything?" Sam asked, not looking up from his computer.

"This guy choked on a bagel," Dean muttered. Sam's eyes lifted from his screen, where a map of Silver Hills was displayed and Sam was methodically marking possible dens. He had to admit there were too many.

"Dean--" Sam sighed, annoyance clear in his voice.

"No, nothing Sam," Dean snorted back. "No brutal murders, no cut throats, animal maulings, mutilations, unexplainable circumstance not even a goddamn heart attack!"

"Dean!" Sam snapped sharply, ice blue eyes flashing around to the disapproving and intrigued looks aimed toward them. "Keep it down."

Dean snorted loudly and tossed his paper aside with a snarl and lifted his hands to rub his face, pulling at his tanned skin. Valentine lifted his head off Dean's thigh and yawned loudly before twisting to scratch at the base of his ear. Dean mimicked the move. It was hard to distinguish if the dog had picked up the trait from Dean or vice versa.

"I'm sick of this shit," Dean snarled.

"Well, if we could get into a motel--"

"No," Dean snapped flatly. "Not until--"

"I know, I know," Sam growled. "You and Red don't want to settle so they can find you until you know where they are."

The younger Winchester shook his head, frustrated with his work clicked the map window down and pulled up a few more, mostly concerning subject matter of deals with creatures from Hell. Dean lifted his eyebrows at his brother's grumble.

"You got a problem?" Dean asked sharply, returning one hand to scratching Valentine's ears. "'Cause usually you don't have a problem holding out, boy wonder."

Sam bristled. "Let's think, we haven't stopped moving in almost three days, I'm sick--"

"_Were_ sick," Dean muttered.

"--and we all need a shower. I love the truck and Impala but I want a goddamn bed," Sam snapped. "And

some privacy would be nice."

Dean rolled his eyes but his attempt to retort was cut short when the sky flashed and a deep warning rumble of thunder rattled over head. Both brothers lifted their eyes toward the heavens, watching the swirling gray and black clouds twisting and braiding with white. The sound made several civilians jump and scramble to try and make way indoors or home. Both brothers knew too much about weather and storms to fidget. It was a dry rain for now. They weren't in any kind of trouble for rain fall until the entire sky was steel gray. They had time.

Dean cleared his throat and started again. "Privacy for what? Looking at maps?"

Sam snorted under his breath. Dean's interest perked and his jaw shifted to lock into place.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean's hand snapped out and roughly snagged the laptop and yanked it toward him, spinning it around.

"Dean!" Sam barked, his voice drowned out when the sky split open again, cracking in lightening and thunder.

The elder Winchester's green eyes flashed over the web pages, they narrowed in rage and he shoved the

laptop back toward his little brother. Sam scrambled to stabilize the computer glaring at Dean.

"Damnit, Sam," Dean snarled, baring his teeth like an animal. "When the hell are you going to quit this!? Bobby told you, Ruby said it, I told you to stop! Hell, even Celia said there isn't shit that can be done!"

"She only said she didn't _know _of a way!" Sam argued, both brother's voices risen in the fight and disregarding the looks and mild distress of those around them.

"Sam, she knows the ins and outs! She's been possessed for twenty six years! She _knows!"_

"Dean, I'm not going to--"

"To give up!? You have to! No matter which way you fold it I'm fucked! Alright?! Deals a deal!"

"I can find something!" Sam barked, his voice tinged with some color of distress, maybe desperation.

"Sam. I'm going to Hell." Dean ground his teeth together, disgust at the thought clear in his voice. But it was alongside the finality in his tone. "I don't want to but there is no fucking way out, alright?"

Sam stared at Dean for a few long seconds. Then he hardened, blue eyes going steely cold.

"You know, Dean, if you're so damn ready to lie in your grave why don't I just shoot you and be done with it!?"

Sam scrambled, shoving his laptop into his satchel, practically knocking his chair over and stormed away, his shoulder slamming into another man's as he went and uncharacteristically didn't apologize. The albino German Shepherd lurched up to his paws and broke into a lope after the younger brother.

"Sa-Sam!" Dean barked. The younger Winchester didn't turn back. The elder cursed and shoved himself up out of his chair. "Sam!"

Before he could move forward a small but unnaturally strong hand settled on his shoulder and shoved him back down. Dean jerked around tensing sharply, but relaxing again seeing the familiar red eyes.

"Celia," Dean breathed.

"Don't chase a Winchester," Celia said calmly, slipping into the chair next to Dean. A step behind her the second German Shepherd, black and tan Buckshot, sat back on his haunches.

"I'm a Winchester."

Celia rolled her eyes and threw Dean a look. "Really? I didn't know," she growled sarcastically and tugged her Stetson cowboy hat lower around her ears. Dean snorted loudly at her.

"He needs to give it up, it's useless," Dean growled.

"Not to him." Celia lifted Dean's half finished coffee and sipped it. "He's doin' what he thinks he needs to do to save yer life."

"It's not working."

"Let him try, damnit. Yer all he's got left, Dean, he's tryin' his damndest and yer not helpin' much."

Dean ground his teeth together.

"And when the Hell have ya ever distrusted Sam's judgment?"

Dean heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand across his face then scratched his ear and tugged at his hair.

"Never," Dean said finally and blinked, momentarily blinded when another bolt of lightening split the sky.

"Don't start now." Celia finished off his cup of coffee and stiffly stood. Dean followed, tossing a few crumpled bills on the table and snagging the obituaries.

"Anythin'?" Celia asked as they fell into step, following the same path that Sam had charged down, the two shepherds on their heels.

"Nothing. They must have just moved into the territory, these six are their first kills."

"Seven," Celia corrected. Dean perked his eyebrow. "Just saw it on the news over the bar; that kid died on the way to the hospital."

"That's unusually fast reporting," Dean muttered, seeming somewhat disinterested by the news of a teenager dying.

"That's what I said and got a few looks. Evidently they get the news fast. This guy, Collins or somethin', practically owns half the city. People and information, and if someone ponies up the price he spits it out in record time."

"Must've had one of the paramedics on the payroll," Dean muttered, disapprovingly.

"Yeah." Celia shrugged and sniffed, the air smelled like a coming storm. "Monopoly makes me nervous. And I keep hearin' the word 'mutant'."

"Mutant?"

"Yeah. And _that _makes me really nervous…"

. . .

Dominique was nearly two hundred years old, but-- of course --didn't look a day over thirty with his smooth, olive skin and wide, youthful eyes; Nadira watched him cautiously as he spread out on the makeshift couch and plucked absent-mindedly at his teeth with a toothpick. Behind Dominique stood his twin brother, Dante, hands placed protectively on the back of the couch, eyes scanning the dreary, gray room suspiciously. Ransik and his mutant followers had commandeered the Time Force prison ship when they escaped from captivity, and now used it as their base of operations; it was convenient, really, as many dangerous mutants had been stored there in cryogenic containment and Ransik could release them one-by-one whenever he wanted to.

_Maybe there won't be any need for more mutants now. _Nadira smirked, eyes settling on the vampire standing the corner of the room, his arms folded and his face void of any emotion-- his name was Dixon, Dominique had said when introducing his pack-- the group consisted of seven vampires, ranging in ages from Dominique and Dante to the youngest, Peter, who was only fifty, and that was including his nineteen years as a human. Dixon was over a hundred, Nadira knew that much, but he was mysterious in all other aspects, rarely speaking.

"You shouldn't stare, princess," Dominique growled, his gaze suddenly directed straight at her.

Nadira jumped in surprise, then glared. "I'll stare wherever I want to," she snapped, "this is _my _home, remember?"

Dominique chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound; above him, Dante's face contorted in a tight-lipped smile. Unsettled, Nadira turned to go, but was stopped by her father as he entered the room and grasped her arm with one of his enormous hands; he squeezed so tightly it hurt, but Nadira only whimpered slightly, too low for anyone to hear.

"So this is your band of merry men," Ransik said, gesturing to the group.

Dominique stood. "They are," he replied.

Ransik paused, clearly scoping out the vampires, searching for any weakness. He spotted Dixon. "They're certainly not impressive looking," he spoke, "but looks can be deceiving, yes?" At Dominique's slight nod, he continued: "Of course, before we make any decisions... you're going to have to convince me this will be worth my time."

Dominique glanced at the television set up in front of the couch, then pointed at it and spoke to one of Ransik's drones, a cyclobot: "Turn that on." The robot did as ordered, and as the screen flickered and came to life, a woman's voice could be heard broadcasting from the sight of a brutal murder: _"... so far the police have made no comments regarding who could have done this, but the Silver Guardians have assured the people of Silver Hills that they were taking extra precautions and it won't happen again."_

Nadira frowned. "What is that?"

"That," Dante spoke up, his own French accent a little dimmer than his twin's, "is what we did." He grinned wolfishly, the screen reflecting in his eyes and then grinned wider at Nadira's clear discomfort.

The screen changed and the view became a row of bodies, each carefully concealed in their own body bags while workers loaded them into vans to take them away; the reporter went on speaking, describing the scene as "shocking" and "disturbing", and informing the audience that six teenagers were found dead. Their bodies badly mutilated. A seventh was rushed to the hospital, but died en route.

"You... ?" Ransik began, watching Dominique for any kind of reaction.

"All of us," the vampire answered.

"We can operate at an entirely different level than what you're used to," Dante said, "your... _mutant _friends, will look like amateurs to the people. In no time, the city will belong to us. There will be no one to stop us."

Ransik blinked once, then again, his mind racing. "Well," he said, slowly, scratching his ragged chin. "There is someone... a few someone's, actually."

Dominique snorted. "You really think those 'cops' could take us?" he asked, incredulously, "If you underestimate us that much... _you're _not worth _our _time."

"I'm not speaking of the police," Ransik said, harshly, "there are others. More powerful. They've stopped every mutant I sent into the city."

Dominique took a step forward, closer to Ransik. "I'm... not... a mutant," he whispered, his voice low, threatening.

"Nevertheless," Ransik said, "you shouldn't dismiss them so easily."

Dante rolled his eyes, growing impatient. "Who!?"he demanded, his voice rising with anger.

Ransik and Nadira exchanged glances, then the mutant leader stepped forward, glaring at Dominique, meeting his eyes. "You'll see... " he promised.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

…

_**Solano Street, Silver Hills**_

_**10:23 am**_

Celia settled the plus nozzle into the Silverado's gas tank at the same time she slid a fraudulent credit card and punching in a pin number. She locked the release into place and listened for a second as the gasoline rolled up the hose and poured into the tank. Making sure that the transaction has time to process Celia easily snapped the card in half and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

"Thank ya, Ms. Jane Wonski. Nice doin' business with ya," she muttered and settled her frame back against the side of the bed. She reached up and casually draped her arms over the edge of the bed and let her head fall back. Her Stetson hat moving and threatening to fall off her head entirely except for being pinned into place between her head and the truck.

Celia shut her eyes and listened to the gas gushing into her tank, humming under her breath. The tune died in her throat at the familiar, predatory growl that rippled over the gas station parking lot. She forced her eyes open and looked around as the sleek black muscle car rolled up. The 1967 Chevrolet Impala was the closest thing to 'home' the Winchesters had ever known, and she was in pristine condition. Exceptional considering that Dean had once had to rebuild the car basically from a scrap heap of twisted metal. Celia watched the Impala cruise up to rest behind the Silverado and listened as the engine died and the doors swung open with a familiar, and almost comforting, creak. The two brothers unfolded and slipped themselves out onto the asphalt and stalked toward Celia. Sam hesitated for a second as Valentine dropped out of the back seat and trotted up to her. Celia shifted one arm down to scratch at Valentine's ears.

"Feelin' better Sam?" she asked quietly, already reading in his pained and sour face that he was not. Whatever 'make-up' argument the two brothers had entered into it was wearing them both down. Dean looked older than his twenty eight years and Sam looked like his spine had bent under the weight of his existence.

"We want a motel," Dean said flatly.

"Oh God…" Celia muttered under her breath and rolled her head back against the truck.

"Celia, you, me and Sam, none of us want to be caught with our pants down, especially by a pack that kills like that," Dean growled, switching on the dominate older brother within.

"We're tired, Red." Sam put in, "We smell like leather and gasoline, including you and we're so stressed out we're not thinking straight--"

"Alright. Alright…" Celia waved at them. "…I don't like it but I'm out voted…pick a place." She turned her attention to the nozzle when the handle clicked and snapped out of place. She pulled the nozzle free, set it back into the cradle and twisted the cap back on before snapping the cover into place.

"Already got one, on the skirts of town. Silver Ring Motel, guy at Target said we couldn't miss it, it's on the same street as the Clock Tower."

"Target?" Celia cocked her head slightly. "Ya got pissed and ran off to Target?"

"I like Target," Sam defended himself.

"What'd ya get at Target?" she asked.

"I got a new machete because mine was bent--" Sam looked pointedly at Celia.

"Sorry…" She shrugged.

"--and we got some other supplies. Rock salt, flu medicine and aspirin, lighter fluid, couple of rosaries, socks…" Dean counted off.

"Damn, ya can just get anythin' at Target nowadays," Celia muttered and pulled open her cab door and letting Valentine jump in to join the other shepherd, Buckshot, in the back seat. "Lead the way."

Dean and Sam nodded and turned back to climb into the Impala, reversing and pulling out onto the street with the Silverado on their tail.

A ten minute drive through the city gave Celia a chance to look around. It wasn't as big as some of the cities they had Hunted in; Cincinnati, Milwaukee, Las Vegas, Saint Louis, New Orleans and others were bigger, brighter and had their own NFL and MLB teams. But Silver Hills was still too much of a city for Celia's taste. Once turned down the street they were looking for Celia's eyes wouldn't leave the brick work and painted exterior walls of the massive clock tower that she knew at one point must have risen well above the rest of the town. Now over shadowed by larger buildings she would bet good money there were a few spirits lingering in its walls. Celia followed the Impala further down the street and pulled into the parking lot of a well kept little motel.

The buildings were two stories with small cat walks and stairs down to the asphalt. The brick building was broken by the red painted doors and the gold numbers. A little neon sign pointed the way to the office and that the Silver Ring was open with vacancies and pet friendly. Good, at least they wouldn't have to stress themselves out trying to keep Buckshot and Valentine under wraps. Celia steered the truck into a spot parked next to the Impala and the three Hunters slid out of their seats, the two dogs dropped to the earth with grunts. Two doors swung shut with thuds.

"Keys," Celia called and held out hand.

"I'm staying, Dean can handle it," Sam said, walking around to the trunk of the Impala as the elder Winchester walked toward the office. Sam and Celia could almost see the charm pouring off Dean as he went. Celia helped Sam gathered the Winchester's duffle bags of clothes and then went for her own while Sam packed a smaller duffle full of the usual necessities. A few sawed off shotguns, a couple of hand guns and hunting knives, salt, lighter fluid, ammunition, some pink chalk and a few of Sam's books for study.

Celia walked back around the truck, her own duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a smaller pack of dog food and her own favorite weapons over the same shoulder.

"Can you take this?" Sam asked, holding out the weapons bag. She shifted her own packs a little higher and took it off his hands.

Both looked up as Dean strolled across the parking lot with a grin and twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

"How many ya get?" Celia asked.

"One."

She and Sam both let out disgruntled growls.

"Hey, it's cheaper and easier to keep an eye on each other that way!" Dean defended, holding out his hands and before Sam could offer him a duffle bounded toward one of the sets of stairs and started up.

"Dean! The whole point was to get some room to relax!" Sam barked back, already starting after his brother.

"How the hell is it supposed to be any kind of relaxin' if we're steppin' on each other and the dogs?!" Celia snapped. The two shepherds barked in agreement.

"God. Sam. Celia. Stop bitching," Dean growled. "You guys act like I've never rented a room before. I asked alright. She said they're apartment style: kitchen, den, bathroom, bed room, plenty of space for the five of us. Unwad your underwear. That's why it costs so damn much."

Sam and Celia glanced at each other and muttering under their breaths followed the unlaiden brother up the stairs and onto the catwalk, standing back while Dean unlocked and stepped into their room, 34, and the dogs in after him. Sam slipped in then Celia last, stretching awkwardly to shut the door then flicked on the light.

"Alright…we were wrong," Celia admitted and Dean grinned smugly.

The room could have passed for a loft style apartment, and there really was enough room for the group of five. And luckily the room wasn't one of the more… 'exotic' decors. The Winchesters and Celia had experienced the spectrum of human creativity for a motel room. Everything from disco fever to floral to urban cowboy. The owners of the Silver Ring had stuck with a simple dark red and black color scheme to accent the brickwork and hard woods. Plain, but comfortable furniture, no eccentric art work or wall paper and seemingly clean was more than they could have hoped for. The two Winchesters and Celia all breathed out a sigh of relief. Sam instinctively crossed the space of the kitchen and den area to where two Queen beds were pushed against a wall with a small nightstand and lamp between. The younger Winchester tossed the two heavy duffels onto one. Celia followed him and dropped her own packs and the weapon's bag on the floor between the beds.

Valentine and Buckshot barked and bounded onto the still empty bed and rolled around in the bedding, snapping at each other and yelping before stretching themselves across the mattress and making to go to sleep. The dogs had always had a habit of showing the emotions that Sam, Dean and Celia kept to themselves. Sam didn't restrain himself and fell forward and face first into the burgundy comforter. He let out a groan between exhaustion and ecstasy. Dean and Celia exchanged looks and Celia lighted a hand on the small of Sam's back, leaning over him.

"Ya gonna show--"

"No," Sam grunted, cutting her off. He made an odd wiggle, belly crawling forward until he was totally on the bed, only his boots hanging over the edge. Celia shrugged and looked toward Dean.

"I can wait." He shrugged.

Celia let out a small smile of relief and mouthed a 'thank you' to the elder Winchester; she may have been a Hunter, a rancher and raised by men, but she was still a female. Celia dug into her pack and tugged out her small bathroom kit and grabbed a clean set of clothes before following Dean's nod toward the bathroom.

Dean turned his attention back to his collapsed brother and the two dogs in time to watch Valentine carefully balance on the edge of the mattress before launching off to basically body slam Sam, the man barking and the dog yapping and tugging at Sam's shirt while the tall man tried to curl up and burrow into the comforter and mattress. The elder Winchester shook his head and grumbled something under his breath about sasquatch brothers and mental dogs.

"I'm going to grab some groceries!" Dean barked loud enough that it could be heard in the bathroom as well in the main unit. He looked at the Impala's keys in his hand before grinning and stalking over toward the pile of Celia's gear and carefully extracted the keys from the disrupted clothes. He palmed them and backed away from the duffels.

"I'm taking the Silverado!" Dean barked, rushing for the door.

"The Hell ya are!" Celia's voice snapped from behind the door and Dean caught the tail end of a scramble at the door. He started laughing manically and sprinted to the truck.

"Dean!" He glanced back to see Celia struggling back into her jeans and yank a flannel button down on over her bra giving up on buttoning it and letting it hang open. The two shepherd's heads snapped up and they launched off the beds to gallop after her.

"See ya, Celia! I'll get you stuff for pancakes!" Dean slammed the door and dashed down the catwalk and stairs.

"Dean! STOP!" she barked, yanking the door back open and taking a massive risk racing barefoot out onto the catwalk, half dressed and without her Stetson hat on. Her red hair was loose, flying around her face. It was the same dark, fresh blood color of her eyes and grown down around her shoulders, but growing from her hair line and curving back over her head was a small set of ram's horns, each just under six inches long and just able to hide under the Stetson hat or a bandanna tied in place. The russet hair, blood eyes and burgundy ram's horns were all gifts from the demon, Shuka Wakan, that had braided itself with Celia's existence for the majority of her life.

She rushed to the railing and leaned over, her eyes locking on Dean as he tore toward the white Silverado.

"Dean! That's my truck!"

He didn't respond, just raced toward the white vehicle and yanked the door open, hauling himself up into the super crew cab, cranking the engine on before he was settled in the seat. The engine choked, strangling in Dean's rush.

"Damnit!" he snarled, he needed more time and flashed his eyes back to Celia.

"WINCHESTER!" Celia raced down the stairs.

"_Christo!"_ Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. Celia let out a choked yelp at the word, tripping at the base of the stairs and crashing hard to the earth.

She scrambled back to her feet, staggering, her red eyes flickering black and animal like teeth bared. Dean flinched, feeling a flash of guilt for using the old trick but he was well aware that he would probably pay for it later and twisted the key, the Silverado thundered to life. The elder Winchester reversed the truck and lurched around onto the street, gunning the huge V8 engine to get away.

"WINCHESTER!" Celia sprinted barefoot across the parking lot with the barking dogs on her heels before she checked her pace, slowed and panting stood on the side walk as Dean whipped the truck around the corner. She stood in the daylight, her face scrunched and chest heaving. She settled her hands on her hips before lifting one to run it over her face and through her hair, yanking at the strands and her horns. Cold wind threatening to blow in the thunder storm making the open flannel slap across her stomach and sides, her jeans, on but still unbuttoned in her rush, shifted and pressed into her skin.

"God fuckin' damnit!" she barked into the street. "Fuckin' WINCHESTERS!"

Valentine and Buckshot barked loudly, grinning and wagging their tails before following Celia back toward the stairs and the room.

...

"Milk ... orange juice ..."

Jen ran her index finger down the long list Wes had hastily scribbled before she left, frowning at some of the requested items that were undoubtedly more sugar than food; she rolled her eyes, grabbing a gallon of milk and then a gallon of orange juice and tossing them both in the cart. "Now where'd I put the ... ?" she mumbled to herself for a second before remembering, and snatched the pen out of her hair to scratch out the drinks on the list and then find what was next. Her brow wrinkled in confusion at the mysterious word:  
"Velveeta??"

"It's macaroni and cheese, Jen."

The dry voice snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes instantly, she put on her best sneer as Eric Myers walked closer, folding his thick arms and taking long, lazy steps; he laughed, suddenly holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Hey, I was just trying to help."

"Whatever, Eric ... " Jen sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "What'd you want?"

"Don't guess you'd believe me if I said this was a social call?" He knew how to get to her, using that infuriating, holier-than-thou voice of his, and punctuating the words with a tiny smirk, his dark eyes glistening.

Jen opened her mouth as if to speak, but scoffed instead. "In Marty's Market?" she said, incredulously.

"Fine." Eric's jaw twitched as he grit his teeth, and his eyes took on a hardened look. He was on the job. "Those people at the crime scene this morning, one woman and two men, have you seen them? The woman was a redhead--"

"I know who you're talking about." The recent memory of the woman easily incapacitating Eric and then stalking off with the men beside her flashed in Jenns mind, and with it returned her confusion over the whole incident; she and the other Rangers had watched as the mysterious woman handled Eric, not seeing the knife she held to his throat till the last second before she let him go and moved on. Shock kept them all momentarily paralyzed, but by the time they had returned to the Clock Tower, words were flying and speculation had begun ... no one knew who the outsiders were, Wes had lived in Silver Hills all his life and had never seen them. It wasn't as if the classic Impala was easy to miss, either, something that Lucas had mentioned almost immediately, the admiration in his voice evident.

"No," Jen said, finally, "I haven't seen them."

Eric hesitated, as if gauging Jen's reaction to see whether or not she was speaking honestly, at last, he nodded. "Well ... if you _do _happen to see them," he said, "give me a call--" he tapped his morpher "--this is Silver Guardian business, no need for you to get anymore involved than that."

Jen couldn't resist. "Sure you could take them?" she asked.

Eric growled, his cheeks flushing just a little red as he whirled around and stormed out of the market, leaving Jen to chuckle for a second, then grow quiet as she thought of the visitors once again: Were they in alliance with Ransik? Responsible for the murders? There were so many questions, and no answers. Jen shook her head, she wasn't going to figure anything out musing over the situation in the middle of the aisle so she continued on her way, searching for the so-called 'velveeta' in the dried goods section. Rounding the corner with her head bowed, she nearly plowed right into the solid figure of a denim and leather-clad man, who had his eyes focused on the shelf full of boxes of pancake mix; he jumped in surprise, immediately taking on a defensive posture and piercing Jen with his gaze.

"Sorry," Jen said, softly.

The man grinned in a charming way, his green eyes suddenly twinkling. "Oh, no problem. You can bump into me anytime." He settled back into a more relaxed stance and Jen noticed a six pack of Lager beer tucked under his arm and a torn open package of beef jerky balanced in his grip. The way he chewed heavily told Jen that he hadn't bothered to wait for check out to dive in.

Jen inwardly rolled her eyes. "Uh, sure ... excuse me." The stranger blinked as if surprised, but stepped aside and allowed her to walk on, her eyes scanning the shelves full of unfamiliar packages, till recognition dawned on her and she spun around. "Hey, you were at that crime scene this morning!"

The charming smile disappeared and the man's face grew cold, like steel. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but knew there was no escaping the cramped situation; Jen pushed aside her cart and walked forward so she was closer to him, but he took a step back, clearly uncomfortable with the invasion. But Jen wasn't about to let up.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I don't see how that's any of _your _business," the man snapped, "What were you doing there anyway? Research for your school paper?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice taking on a condescending tone that boiled Jen's blood.

"I had more business being there than you, that's for sure." Jen met his eyes as she crossed her arms, putting on her toughest, military commander demeanor. "You're not FBI."

"Oh really?" the man laughed, but Jen caught the brief glint in his eyes that showed surprise... and perhaps a little worry.

"Oh really," Jen echoed, "FBI agents don't drive around in fancy, classic cars that get less than fifteen miles to a gallon and a work truck. And they don't assault local police officers."

"Listen, lady... I don't know who you think you are--"

"I could say the same about you."

"What are you... nineteen? I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"Well then, you can explain yourself to the cops!" Jen turned and started to bring her morpher up to her mouth, but it bleeped loudly before she could do anything; the man behind her stepped up to her side to get a better look at the contraption.

"What the hell is that?" he asked, suspiciously.

Jen shouldered her way around him, heading for the exit as a cell phone started blaring "Smoke On The Water" and the man answered with an alert: "What's up?" She wondered for a moment what it was, and how they were getting calls at the same time, but brushed aside her thoughts and hurried outside, around the corner of the building, then spoke to the tiny image of Wes: "What's going on?"

"_Jen, there's something going on downtown. Meet us at the movie theater."_

"What is it? A mutant?"

"_I don't know yet. Just hurry up!"_

Jen let out an exasperated breath and hit the button on the morpher to cut the communication, she held up her arms and began the morphing sequence: "Time for--" only to cut off abruptly when the doors burst open and the man she'd been speaking to a moment ago ran out his arms empty, hopping in the Silverado and gunning the engine quickly. He tore off in the direction of downtown, tires squealing and smoke billowing out of the exhaust; Jen narrowed her eyes, watching as the vehicle disappeared, her curiosity peeked. But without another thought, she morphed and took off running...

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

…

_**Silver Garden Park and Big R Theater**_

_**11:36 AM**_

Eric felt his teeth grinding. His jaw was beginning to hurt and he had a feeling that he was going to be doing a lot of teeth grinding, probably in his sleep, too. So he knew his jaw was going to be hurting for while still.

He'd gotten a call, too; already on his way downtown, Eric had plenty of time to be there first, along with a good sized group of Silver Guardian and Silver Hills PD. Both groups were on edge, and the usually neglected homicide unit was frazzled with suddenly being pummeled with seven, disturbing corpses.

Eight, Eric corrected himself. His eyes stayed locked on the body that had been almost decoratively hung on the spikes of a cast iron fence surrounding the park across from the movie theater.

He didn't have gag reflex anymore, to enraged to feel the greasy curling feeling in his stomach. The corpse had been mounted almost decoratively, clearly on display for all to see and excruciatingly fresh. Blood was still sliding down the bars of the fence and pooling on the side walk. The examiner had already muttered to him and the Chief of Police that the body wasn't even cold, and was worse, had probably still been breathing and screaming when he'd been hung off the fence.

It was something strong, that was for sure. The body had been shoved down over the barbs of the spear like fencing rails. A number of the spike had punctured completely through the body. Eric knew it was the same killer, the same broken jaw and half face torn away grinned at him. Taunted him.

_Come and get me_

"I'll kill him," Eric snarled under his breath.

"Sir?"

Eric flicked his eyes to a Silver Guardian as he swiftly saluted then relaxed. Everything was becoming more relaxed... or more panicked. Silver Hills hadn't seen a serial killer since before World War II. Now there were eight mutilation murders within fifteen hours of each other. And one of them in broad daylight and public.

"Sir, there's witness. Says he saw what happened," the Guardian informed him quickly, he was shifting a little in his place. Eric nodded and followed the other man to where a sullen, dark haired man hunched his shoulders against the sunlight. His eyes were cast down and something about him set Eric on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Eric cleared his throat and drew the attention of the witness, a new shiver raced down Eric's spine when the hollow, almost animal like eyes settled on him.

"Sir, I'm Eric Meyers, Commander of the Silver Guardians--" Eric reached for the same small pad of paper and pen he'd written the license plates on and tensed to take notes, "--can I have your name?"

"Dixon," the witness muttered, his eyes falling away from Eric and flicking around the busy scene. "It was some guy, hung that other man like he was a Christmas decoration and ran into the park."

Dixon pointed toward the gate further down the block where several SHPD were standing guard and talking quietly to each other.

"He went into the park?" Eric asked, cocking his eyes toward the witness.

"Called the police right after, five seconds later they're all over the place. Must've been patrolling."

"Sir, they roped off the park and posted at each entrance first thing," the Silver Guardian said sharply to Eric. "But they didn't sweep it."

Eric's eyes snapped open in realization and he shoved the pad roughly into his pocket and raced down to the nearest entrance of the park, one thing screaming in his mind.

The monster could still be in the park.

Eric shoved passed the officers at the entrance, getting by without being tackled only because the other Guardian flashed credentials and informed them of Eric's rank. The Guardian's leader would have probably out stripped them anyway, his blood was pounding too hard and too fast. Eric sprinted up the brickwork path of the park, his eyes racing around the greenery, begging for a shadow between the trees or behind the hedges.

"C'mon, Damnit!" Eric snarled and slowly checked his pace, settling into a walk, his fists clenched hard as he approached the large fountain in the center of the park. "Damnit!" Eric snapped again, his eyes doing a final sweep before he grudgingly moved on toward the other side of the park.

His heart stopped for a second before snapping back into action.

A petite blonde was strolling casually along the brick path, engrossed in a paper back book. How the hell had she been missed by the police and the Guardians?

"Miss! Miss wait!" Eric barked and rushed forward.

The blonde stopped and looked back at him, large blue eyes blinking at him. Eric trotted toward her but slammed on the brakes when a shadow lunged from the hedge near her and swiftly wrapped her in a bear hug. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs and went rigid when a knife pressed tightly to her throat.

Eric swallowed heavily, still feeling the phantom blade at his own throat.

The man hugged the blonde closer, using her like a shield.

"Stop!" Eric roared.

"Move and I'll open her up!" the male snapped back in a slightly French accented voice. He was thirty something with wide shoulders and very pale skin. There was a crazed haze in his eyes; he looked wild like a trapped animal. Eric was oddly reminded of a more extreme version of the witness, Dixon's eyes.

"Let her go NOW!" Eric ordered and moved to take a step forward. The woman yelped and choked on sobs as the blade twisted into her throat.

Eric froze, even grudgingly stepped back. But as he retreated Eric snapped a command to his morpher and in a flurry of movement the Silver Guardians gear was replaced by the Quantum Ranger's suit of deep red and black.

The offender and hostage went rigid for a second, staring at him in mild shock before the male hardened and the woman started whimpering again for help.

"What the hell was that?" Eric heard the male mutter either to himself or to the hostage before the animal growl fell back into place. "Cute trick, kiddo."

"Let the girl go," Eric ordered with a new level of authority.

"Eric!"

Damnit! Eric didn't twist to look at the other five Rangers he knew were racing toward him.

"Stay back!" Eric snarled over his shoulder.

"BACK OFF!" the male's shout at the top of his lungs and the blonde's yelp stopped the other Rangers in their tracks. "Or I swear I'll gut her!"

The blonde gave a violent jerk in the male's arms, his grip seemed to have slipped in his sudden confrontation with six brightly dressed Rangers. She elbowed him in the gut and broke away rushing to Eric and practically throwing herself into him. Eric instinctively wrapped his arms around her like a shield and tugged her back and further away from danger.

The male suddenly without leverage backed off, wild eyes flashing between them as the Rangers moved in to make the arrest.

"This is it?" a voice sneered behind them. The Rangers jerked around toward the voice and did a double take.

Standing on the brickwork path behind them, arms crossed tightly over his wide chest was a mirror image of the armed male ahead of them; the Rangers' eyes flashed from the doppelganger to the image they thought was the original.

"Twins," Eric growled and pulled the blonde closer. The unarmed twin snorted through his nose.

"This is what Ranisk was bitching about?" the second twin grumbled. "A bunch of kids in theme park costumes!"

The first twin snorted, making the Rangers swiftly turn toward him. The blonde yelped into Eric's chest and made the Rangers' attention snap to their open sides. Four more males were closing in on their flanks. One looked like a teenager, there was a large black male and smaller, rougher white man and the "witness" Eric had spoken to, Dixon. The Quantum Ranger ground his teeth together and cursed under his breath.

Each of the four males prowled in, acting more like animals than humans. The Rangers distinctly heard low, predatory growls rippling from the four male's throats. It sent buckets of ice water down their spines. Something about the gritty, animalistic men, humans, was more unsettling than being surrounded by Cyclobots and mutants.

"He's absolutely pathetic. I'm going to have to slaughter him, no room for omegas," the second twin growled.

"Who are you?" Eric snapped and backed up till he was only a foot away from Wes. The unfamiliarity of being surrounded by growling humans driving Eric back toward the other Rangers. The second twin flicked hollow eyes toward the Quantum Rangers, Eric couldn't see a strip of humanity in them.

"Boys. Angelique," the second twin sniffed. "Have your fill, make sure they're dead. No trash in the pack."

The Rangers went deathly still as each male, including the twins, grinned. Human teeth overshadowed by rows of fangs that slid into place, faces twisting in demonic snarls and the growls pitched louder.

In his grip the blonde twisted to show Eric her own set of monster fangs. She bared her teeth in a grin before lunging toward his throat, her strength nearly overpowering him, he snarled angrily and gripped her shoulders as he planted his boot deep in her gut and kicked as hard as he could. She stumbled back and nearly fell, her eyes squinting and her mouth forming a grotesque image with her fangs exposed; Eric didn't wait for her to make another move, he whipped out his Quantum Defender and fired off a shot before she could attack again, but she jumped to the side quickly and the shot glanced off her left shoulder. She hardly seemed to feel it.

"Eric!" Wes called, his voice sharp with alarm.

Eric spun around just as Dixon lunged at him with a roar, slamming into him like a freight train, the momentum carrying them both to the ground, where they landed with a thud against the pavement and in a tangled heap. Dixon brought his arm back, then smashed his fist into Eric's helmet, shattering the visor and creating tiny cuts all around Eric's eyes; he grunted, the air escaping his lungs as Dixon hit him in the stomach, driving his fist upward and sending a sharp pain through his ribs. His protective suit softened the blow slightly, but not enough to keep him from gasping just a moment too long, giving Dixon another opportunity, one that he took. In a second, the stronger man's hands had encircled Eric's neck and began to squeeze, cutting off Eric's air supply with alarming speed--

A flash of red and white light as Wes brought his Chrono Saber down on Dixon's back, eliciting a cry of pain from him and forcing him off Eric, who lay on the ground, wheezing and taking harsh, painful breaths. Wes glanced at him, but Eric waved him away, managing a rough: "Get out of here" before lapsing into a coughing fit; Wes charged back into the fight, knowing he couldn't take time away to see if his comrade was okay. He grabbed his blaster out of its holster and fired into the chest of the blonde female, who was charging directly at him; the laser sent her falling back with a cry, but she was replaced by the youngest of the group, a boy who seemed no older than eighteen. He didn't_ look_ like much of a threat.

Without warning, the teen snatched something out of his belt and flung it toward Wes, who tried to side-step the attack but managed only to deflect it slightly; the sharp knife found it's target, embedding itself a good two inches in Wes' bicep. The pain was sudden and spread through his entire arm, feeling like fire; as he doubled over, gritting his teeth and preparing to remove the weapon, Jen took over his battle, landing a sound kick to the teen's jaw and snapping his head to the side. Her fist shot out and slammed into his cheekbone, her knee up and into his groin; she crouched low to the ground and swung her leg around, sweeping his legs out from under him and bringing him crashing to the ground. As he fell, she heard footsteps coming at her from behind, running, and swung around her blaster leveled at the figure; it was one of the twins, he smiled, it sent a tremor through Jen's body.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Death."

His eyes changed their focus, glancing over her shoulder. She took heed of the unintentional warning and spun around, bring her leg up in a windmill motion so that the heel of her boot caught the teen under his jaw; she felt hands gripped her arms right above her elbows, and braced herself, only to be thrown through the air. She landed against a tree and demorphed as she fell, gasping when something popped in her back and pain shot through her whole body; through blurry eyes, she saw Trip and Katie take on the twin that had disposed of her with such ease, only to be taken care just as effortlessly. She looked sharply to Wes and Lucas, who were fighting valiantly against the blonde and the teen as Eric did his best to fight off Dixon; the blonde girl grasped Wes' neck, then tossed him aside, he crashed into the side of the fountain, then lay still. A second later, Lucas took a hard hit and fell to his knees; Eric was still fighting Dixon, struggling but holding his own, while Dixon hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Just too much for you, huh?"

Jen's head shot up and her eyes met those of the other twin, who was grinning, revealing bloody teeth; he took Jen by the arm, forcing her to her feet even as her back screamed out in protest and she nearly collapsed. Eyes flashing with defiance, Jen hacked up as much spit as she could and sent it flying right into his face, splattering on his cheek and in his eye; for a moment, he snarled in anger, but then amusement replaced that emotion. Still, he backhanded her fiercely, knocking loose a few back teeth and causing her to bite her cheek. Her mouth flooded with blood.

"It's going to take more than pretty costumes to get rid of us." Again, he hit her. This time, the punch was so severe she saw stars, and her knees grew weak, like rubber.

"That's what... they all say," she muttered.

He laughed, a sound that had always brought comfort to her, but now only brought on fear and apprehension; then he leaned in so close she could smell the blood in his mouth and feel his breath on her neck. "Silly little girl... " With a deep growl, he opened his mouth and aiming for her neck--

"Hey!"

With the sharp shout, an arrow pierced the man's chest, sticking through his layers of clothing and pressing against Jen, who let out a shocked cry before regaining her composure and managing to push her attacker off and to the ground. Standing behind him was the young man from the market, who held a crossbow and a face void of any expression till he caught Jen's eyes and recognized her; coming from behind him, were the two others that had been at the crime scene, a taller man with longer hair, and the woman. A black bandanna tied around her red hair. Faster than the three people were two streaks of animal, both racing for the nearest threat in the midst of the combat.

"Jesus Christ," the taller one muttered hastily, running and skidding to a stop next to Jen just as she started to collapse; he wrapped his arms around her while the woman swung a machete at the twin who'd been attacking Jen, the blade going straight for his neck.

The other twin caught sight of the battle and took off running just as the weapon was raised, reaching her barely in time and grasping her wrist as she brought it forward; with a noise that sounded like a snarl and a snort wrapped up into one, he ripped the machete from her hand and punched her in the nose. Her head was flung back and blood spurted from her nose, prompting a curse to escape from her lips.

Eric glanced over from his move-for-move match with Dixon, mumbling under his breath when he saw the turn of events; Dixon kicked him in the abdomen while he was distracted, cracking another rib or two, but he still managed to level his blaster and shoot it straight into the uninjured twin's back, bringing a gasp from the other: "Dominique!"

Dominique fell to his knees, but reached out with one hand and gripped the shirt of the woman, dragging her down with him where they continued their fight, rolling on the ground, growling like animals and clawing at each other, getting in as many punches as possible. "Celia!" the shorter of the two men yelled, snapping his leg forward and catching Dominique in the ribs.

Dixon rewarded Eric by throwing him into the ground and a renewed grip on his throat, trying to push Eric's windpipe into his spine. The Quantum Ranger's vision flickered and he managed a cracked rasp of air. Dixon's fanged grin snarled down at him; then Eric felt his frame jerk as Dixon was literally ripped off of him. Eric sucked in a deep breath of much needed air and broke out coughing again. His head rolled to the side, toward what sounded like a titanic dog fight. Snarling, growling and screaming Eric made out the image of a blurry, white animal trying to rip Dixon apart. It took a second for Eric to register that it was a German Shepherd. The dog had a vicious hold on Dixon's throat, mauling the monster before letting go when Dixon pounded his fist on the dog's back. Snarling, the Shepherd lunged and tore into Dixon's forearm, then shoulder before the monster finally landed a heavy blow deep into the white dog's shoulder. The Shepherd yelped in pain and went rolling.

Eric rolled onto his side and started to shove himself up when Dixon launched back onto him, too late as Eric gained back his feet and into a defensive stance. The creature's throat was mauled and his arm was dribbling dark blood, but he seemed totally unaware of his lacerated flesh and torn muscle. Eric watched as a few of the shallower gashes started to seal shut on their own.

Jen blinked slowly, trying to focus. She barely heard his voice as the man who was holding her up said: "I'm Sam... are you okay? Can you stand?"

Immediately she thought 'yes', but her legs still felt like jello and she could barely see a foot in front of her; nevertheless, she gripped a tree with one hand and nodded: "I'll be fine."

To assure him, she pushed him toward the battle, standing on her own; Sam gave her a concerned look for a moment, but his concern for the other two overrode his feelings and he charged back in, shouting "Dean" to warn the other man of a sneak attack. Dean whirled around, swinging his own machete and chopping off the head of the black man who was rushing him; blood rained down on Dean's face, the headless body collapsed. Dean doubled over, spitting desperately and wiping the liquid from his skin.

Trip shook his head violently, trying to clear it, twisting his eyes to where Katie was unconscious a few feet away with an ugly gash in her collar bone. Trip couldn't make out if she was breathing. The Green Ranger twisted his swimming vision toward where Lucas was struggling to get back his feet. The young alien went rigid and panicked when a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck and yanked him up. Trip bit back a gasp of pain as his spine was twisted and he was forced to arch his back and keep a kneeling position. His heart lurched as the low, animal hiss rippled in his ear and rancid breath washed over his neck. The it raised into a snarl and jagged teeth scraped across his skin before a ear splitting bark made Trip look forward. He caught the final leap of a black and tan German Shepherd. The dog's flank slammed across his ear but the monster gripping Trip's neck was bowled over backwards. Trip scrambled and rolled over. The dog backed up standing protectively in front of Trip, ears pinned back, lips drawn in a challenging snarl toward the male. He hissed back before his attention snapped toward Sam.

Sam lunged full on at the white man, rough-looking and about forty. Sam's fist connected with the man's eye socket, then another to his throat, but the acts didn't stun him at all so Sam stuck a bloody knife deep into his stomach; any color left in the male's face was drained, and he stumbled, growing weak and giving Sam time to grasp the machete Dean was handing him and swing it, neatly slicing off the man's head.

Celia was on her feet and matching Dominique in hand-to-hand combat, but eventually he got one up on her face and slammed his forearm into her throat. Coughing and gasping for air, Celia was forced to back down. But the fight was not lost. Dominique's eyes scanned the area, smirking confidently when he saw the Rangers laying on the ground, defeated; but then his smirk turned into a frown when he saw the headless bodies of two of his followers.

"Let's go!" he shouted, gesturing toward Dixon and the other two. He turned his attention back to Celia for a second and reeled meeting pure black eyes. Celia's lips curled and she bared her own sharper than natural teeth and let out a low warning hiss. Dominique returned the sound before rushing to his twin's side.

Dixon gave Eric a vicious backhand that sent him sprawling onto the ground, then took off toward Dominique, who was helping up his brother; Angelique and the teenager both laughed as they ran off. The whole fight couldn't have lasted more than five minuets.

Dean and Celia turned to face each other, breathing heavily, bloody. "Sam?" Dean asked, his voice tense with worry as he looked around till he found the other man, who had returned to help Jen.

"I'm okay," Sam replied.

Celia gripped Dean's jaw and inspected his face closely, her black eyes fading back into red and narrowing in on the blood streaks that had run down his cheeks and onto his lips. "Get any in your mouth?" she asked, sharply.

"No... of course not," Dean growled, annoyed.

"Good." The faint concern that had appeared in Celia's eyes disappeared and was replaced by a dry amusement. "Hate to take off that pretty head of yours-- " she gently cuffed him on the side of his head, more ruffling his hair than anything. Then turned her attention to Jen, battered and bruised, leaning heavily on Sam. In unison, the two women spoke to each other, both harsh and suspicious: "Who the hell are you?"

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**…**

_**Silver Hills Industrial District**_

_**Abandoned Happy Teeth Toothpaste Offices**_

_**11:50**_

Dante's chest constricted around the wood and metal of the arrow. His fangs still bared the twin panted like a rapid dog, saliva dribbled from his slack jaw to the surface of the battered wood table he sat at. One of

Dante's hands was wrapped white knuckled around a bottle of pure Jack Daniels. The others grip was just as tight around the hilt of a dagger with its blade tip buried into the wood of the table. The air rushing over his nostrils and wind pipe was sounding more and more like a laboring race horse.

It was a sure sign of discomfort and pain as the twin vampire, having been dead upwards of two hundred years, didn't need to breathe at all.

The female vampire, Angelique, placed a firm hand on Dante's spine and gripped the shaft of the arrow close to his torn clothes and bleeding flesh. Dixon worked around the front of the twin, snapping the head off the shaft and lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The vampire made an ugly face and tossed it aside like it was poisoned.

"Dead man's blood," Dixon snarled.

"I could have told you that!" Dante barked in Dixon's face. Both males bared their teeth and hissed at each other.

"Dante!" Angelique snapped, warning the male for a second before yanking the bolt free from the older vampire's chest. Dante bit back a growl and after a heart beat of gasping he threw back a deep swallow of the amber alcohol.

"Hunters…" Dante croaked. "How are there fucking Hunters here!?" Angelique carefully stripped off the twin's shirt to his bare chest and started to clean up the quickly healing wound and dried blood.

"Thought they were all busy with the war, demons and getting killed," the teenage vampire, Peter, snorted from his place on an old couch in the room.

The pack's den was larger than most vampire's kept. The old, brick two story office was large enough for the vampires to move around without stepping on each other and if the building ever came under suspicion and they didn't particularly feel like killing a contractor they could easily hide in one of the many forgotten offices, storage or conference rooms. The pack spent most of it's time in the largest conference room. They moved in plush chairs and couches from the abandoned lounge and lobby, replaced the huge, rotting table with a smaller, wood one from a personal space and hard backed chairs from the cafeteria. To finish off the room Peter's lab top was sitting on a desk in one corner and a television on the other.

"Evidently not busy enough to give up a chance at loping off Mikey and Porter's heads," Dante laughed humorlessly.

He flinched and the other three vampires jerked as a second bottle of alcohol slammed into the corner of the table and shattered, sending glass and amber liquid flying. Dante whirled around, dagger in hand and faced his twin, Dante snarled, baring his teeth and hissing loudly. Dominique didn't return the snarl but he was the picture of barely controlled insanity and rage.

"Enough," Dominique growled out.

Dante settled, easing himself back into his chair and turning his eyes away from the dominant brother. The tension in the pack snapped with a crackle of energy as Ranisk, Nadira and a few of their robotic lackies appeared from thin air into the center of the room, almost on top of Dominique. Where the brother had been standing rigid since they returned to the den.

Ranisk's face was twisted into a smug grin, "Couldn't handle the Rangers, hmm?" he taunted before looking away from Dominique toward the other vampires. His eyes falling on Dixon's still half mauled throat and arm, Peter's fading bruises and the through and through hole in Dante's chest. And taking in that the pack was missing two vampires all together.

"The Rangers did this?" Nadira gasped quietly and flinched when Dante broke into deep guttural laughter.

The whole room was deadly silent until Dante's laughter subsided and ended with a drink from the Daniel's bottle.

"Those little bastards were wrapped up in butcher paper, easier than lambs in a pen," Dante snickered.

"This was Hunters."

"Hunters?" Ranisk cocked his head in mild confusion.

"_Good_ Hunters," Angelique growled.

"Better," Dixon muttered and drew all the attention in the room. "I knew them, scented them before. The two males at least…they where the Winchesters. The brothers."

Every vampire in the room went rigid.

"_The_ Winchesters?" Peter asked and pushed himself up from the couch. "The Winchesters that opened Colt's Gate to Hell? The Winchesters that practically gutted Luthor's pack in the Midwest? That killed a couple of Lanore's pack? That killed half and banished the rest of the seven sin demons? That shut down that yellow eyed demon's happy hour at White Oak, Wyoming? That are supposed to be dead a few times over and keep dancing around Hell? The Winchesters that killed your fledglings and Gordon Walker with a piece of wire when you turned him,_ those_ Winchesters?"

Dixon shot a look at the over dramatic vampire.

"Well, that's just peachy." Peter snarled.

"You want good?" Dante snarled, "that female, the redhead. Demon."

"What?" Peter's head snapped around, it was like the pack had completely forgotten that Ranisk was even in the room. "No, don't believe it. Hunters don't pair up with demons."

"She was a fucking demon!" Dante snapped back.

"I didn't smell a demon," Peter growled, treading on dangerous ground speaking against one of his alphas, pack leaders.

Dominique bared his fangs and snarled at his pack, silencing his twin brother and the teenager at the same time. Dominique continued to growl, his throat rattling and teeth bared turning on Peter and making the smaller man cringe back into the cushions of the couch.

"It was a demon," Dominique hissed. "An old one and I want it dead."

"We can take 'em," Peter muttered. "Those kids were sheep and we have five to their three."

"IT'S NOT ENOUGH!" Dominique roared, Peter cringed closer to the cushion of the couch, shivering at Dominique's rage.

But Ransik just watched, a smile spreading over his scarred, ugly face...

**...**

_**Silver Garden Park**_

_**12:03 PM**_

"Who the hell are you?"

Celia cocked an eyebrow at the brunette, who met her gaze with an unintimidated glare, then blinked once as her vision flickered suddenly into fuzziness before clearing again. She reached around and felt toward the back of her head, a lump was starting to swell behind her left ear.

_Damn… must have taken a blow to the head._ She blinked and rubbed a hand across her eyes again.

"Red?" Sam's voice drifted through the hazy vision.

"Yeah…my vision…" Celia returned, blinking again to clear it and settle her eyes back on the brunette who was practically clinging to the younger brother to stay upright. She lifted a hand to scrub her fist across the drying blood around her nose and cleaning it up. "Look, I don't fuckin' care who ya are. Who else is bleedin'?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders when Celia's eyes turned toward him. The elder Winchester gave himself a quick once over and twisted his arms around and felt around his throat then up toward his temple, his fingers came away from a small slice near his eye slicked with blood.

"Damn. I am," he growled.

The brunette looked up, an expression of surprise crossing her face at his complete disregard for his own injuries, then she frowned and started to speak softly: "You... you were at the market."

"Me too," Sam spoke, ignoring the girl's quiet voice. He lifted his knuckles outward toward Celia and Dean to show his rubbed raw flesh as blood started to seep up to the surface of his skin. "I think everyone is," he added, casting his eyes toward the other Rangers still sprawled or trying to get back to their feet.

"Shit," Celia grumbled, looking between the brothers. "That pack just got a big breath of our scents."

The brunette's eyes were casting around toward her fallen friends and they settled sharply on the still form of the blond man against the fountain. "Wes!" she barked and struggled away from Sam to get to him. Sam quickly followed, reaching out to steady her until they were next to the unconscious blond; Sam eased her down to sit on the fountain before crouching next to the kid to check him out.

Celia cast her eyes to Dean before she looked down sharply and started to rub across her eyes again.

"Celia?" Dean asked sharply.

"I got a hit to the head is all," she muttered, blinking until her vision returned to clarity. "I'll be all right."

Nearby the black and tan German Shepherd, Buckshot, barked loudly, drawing attention to the huddled group of kids he was monitoring; a black woman was laying on the ground, surrounded by two men, an Asian guy who looked about twenty and a younger one with his back facing Celia and Dean. Their voices could be heard muttering to each other nervously.

"Want the girl?" Celia motioned toward them.

"Sure." Dean gave her a final look before stepping over and squatting next to the girl and the two guys.

"Hey guys, calm down," Dean soothed. "What's her name?"

"Katie," the dark-haired male said swiftly and clearly.

"But she won't wake up," the green-haired teen pleaded.

Dean's eyes flew up and he did a double take before snarling several curses. He looked toward the dark- haired man next to him. "Shit, you're those damn kids from the café. What the hell are you doing out here?! Seven kids get murdered in a park and you guys go for a stroll!? There's a dead guy looking like a garland on the goddamn park fence! Not warning enough for you?!"

"Listen, buddy... we're not just out here for a picnic!" the dark-haired man snapped, beginning to rise even as the younger cringed away from Dean's harsh words.

The challenge was clear in the younger man's words, and for a second Dean felt heat rush to his face and his blood begin to pump wildly again; but the elder Winchester controlled himself. They were victims. And nobody liked being treated like a child... even if the kid did look like he was barely out of High School. He checked Katie's pulse, the gash in her skin and pulled back her eye lids to look in her pupils.

"Is she all right?" the green-haired teen asked hopefully. He was wringing his hands.

"She'll live," Dean said almost too shortly, then sat back and whistled sharply, getting his brother's attention. "Sam." He motioned toward the two boys.

"Already know. I got the third one here!" Sam called back, motioning toward Wes as the blond was slowly revived by the brunette's coaxing. Both brothers looked toward Celia and she shook her head.

"Too much of a coincidence," she muttered and turned her attention to where the albino, Valentine was sitting next to the man still lying on the ground. The guy's attention was clearly on the comfort the dog was offering, his gloved hand tangled tightly into the thick white fur, which was streaked pink and red with blood. Valentine's blue eyes blinked slowly and he let out a soft bark, calling for help. She stepped stiffly over toward the man and her dog, still scrubbing blood away from her nose and willing the swelling to stop. She stood and looked down at him, eyeing the red and black body suit and cocked her head. His chest was heaving and the cracked motorcycle like helmet made it easy to at least see his eyes.

"Dude… are ya wearin' spandex?"

The eyes narrowed in defense and he flinched suddenly when a flash of light and energy and the suit disappeared, replaced by the combat uniform. Celia jumped and looked him up and down for a second before sighing and easing down to squat next to him.

"Figured it was ya, kid, after seeing those other three. Hold still." She reached for his head and gently settled her hands along his badly bruised throat and jaw line. He jerked at the touch and ground his teeth together, hissing as pain flooded into his neck.

"Stop it," he croaked out and tried to push himself away, gasping as pain flashed up his ribs and across his stomach. His grip in Valentine's fur tightened and the dog licked his lips to keep from whining.

"I just want to check yer eyes," she said back and leaned forward to inspect the small lacerations around his eyes, the bridge of his nose and his cheek bones.

"I said stop! I know the difference between a bump and a concussion... I'm fine!" the man snarled and willed up enough strength to push Celia off balance, she fell onto her hip in the bloody grass. She bared her teeth at him and bristled like an animal.

"Boy, ya just need to settle yer pace," she snapped ill temperedly.

The man went still, she actually heard his teeth grind together and he suddenly let go of Valentine, grabbed her throat and arm. Celia felt herself being thrown over and his weight suddenly straddled her stomach, one hand trapping her wrists, the other squeezing her throat; she went still under him, looking up into his eyes and masking her face with a lack of emotion.

"What did you do to Marine Elijah Greer?" the man growled down at her.

He stilled himself at the sound of guns cocking, then looked up to see Sam aiming steadily with a .45 Taurus dead at his chest. The younger Winchester's eyes were protective and so enraged they were ice cold, his jaw was locked and screaming "threat". The Silver Guardian's head was forced to tilt sideways as the heated metal of a barrel pressed into his temple.

"Get off of her," Dean warned in a low tone. "Now."

The man stayed put, straddling and pinning Celia down. His eyes twitched to see Dean but all he could make out was the jeans. "Did you kill him? Kill him for his truck?" he snapped at Celia's face before Dean's boot connected with his side and sent him rolling off her and directly into Sam. The younger Winchester quickly settled a boot on his shoulder and aimed the gun down into his face.

Celia took Dean's help to sit up, then climb to her feet.

The uniformed man glared up at the barrel of the .45 for a split second before shooting his arms up and twisting Sam's arm painfully, simultaneously bringing his legs up and wrapping them around Sam's hips, using his body weight to pull him to the ground and switch their positions. Sam lost his grip on the gun, but Eric couldn't keep his, and it went into the grass, landing a couple feet away; the two men stayed pinned to each other, their bodies poised for each other's next attack.

"It's all right, Sam." Celia took a step forward, annoyance -- but also humor -- lighting up her eyes.

Sam pushed the man off him and he went back into the grass, landing on his rear, still shooting a murderous look up at Celia.

"First of all, it's my truck and second, I would NEVER hurt my brother," Celia snapped passionately.

The man stared at her for a few seconds, watching her as if trying to decide for himself whether or not she was telling the truth. He started to shove himself up. Sam moved to help him but he jerked away. "I don't need you're help," he spat, getting to his feet and practically stumbling away, hugging his aching ribs and gut.

Sam stepped over to Celia and his brother and leaned toward them.

"We can't let him walk away, they've got his scent, too," he whispered.

"I know… I know… little bastard," Celia muttered, narrowing her eyes at the retreating man's back.

"He sure was hanging on Valentine." Dean shrugged his shoulders and started back toward Katie and the other two men. Celia stood for a second before crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

"Damn it," she snapped. "Valentine, c'mere."

The albino rushed to sit on his haunches in front of her, he cocked his ears up and bright blue eyes locked on her.

"Ya all right? Feel good?"

Valentine gave a short bark back, thumping his tail on the grass.

"All right… goddamnit. Stay with him." She pointed and Valentine twisted his head to follow the direction and look at the man. "_Stay _with him," she pounded in the command.

Valentine barked, lurched up to his paws and galloped off after the man. Celia watched her albino race away to follow orders.

"Friggin' dog,"she snorted and turned to meet the eyes of the brunette. She and Sam were helping to keep the blond man, apparently named Wes, on his feet while he oriented himself.

"I knew you weren't FBI," she accused, narrowing her eyes at Celia and turning the glare toward Sam and Dean, too. Then returned her eyes to Celia. "Especially you. What _are _you… _Celia." _

The brunette practically snapped her name. Celia bristled, immediately on the defensive.

"Hey listen, Butch. Ya don't get to call me that!" the redhead barked back, baring her teeth.

"You can scream and growl all you want," the brunette argued, shoving herself away from Wes and Sam and sticking her face inches from Celia's, "but that's not going to scare me any. Who the hell _are _you people, and what are you doing in our city!?"

_"Yer _city," Celia snorted, "hell of a job yer doin' takin' care of it... _eight _dead bodies. Yer just a bunch of amateurs who are in way over their heads." She took a deep breath, seething inwardly but speaking calmly. "Now... before someone else gets hurt, or worse... y'all pups need to step back an' leave this to the wolves."

"Fuck you," the brunette spat.

"Jen-- " Wes started.

"Stay out of it, Wes!" Jen held up her left hand to silence her friend, a diamond ring on her finger sparkling in the sunlight.

"Better listen to yer boyfriend, Butch," Celia said, red eyes flicking to the ring.

The words seemed to strike a nerve in the younger woman. She stiffened, her eyes hardening and her face growing pale; Celia felt the urge to step back when Jen took one forward, but held her ground glared at the young woman, who spoke, her voice shaking with emotion: "You don't get to come here, and act like you're in charge, okay? I'm on a mission, and I don't have time for your attitude."

"Missions get people killed and _I _don't have time for self righteous--" Celia said.

"Hey, hey!" Sam cut in, stepping in and breaking the two women apart. "Let's start acting like mature adults here instead of biting each other's heads off... you're both acting like fifth graders. For God's sake, we don't even know each other's names!"

Celia and Jen backed off each other, while the green-haired boy and the older Asian-looking man came to stand on either side of Wes, the teenager speaking first: "Maybe... we could help each other." His wide eyes flitted back-and-forth, from Celia to Dean and then finally to Sam, who offered a tiny smile in return, then nodded his agreement.

"We could always use some extra hands," Wes said, his voice weak. He leaned heavily on the tall, black-haired man.

"But _we _couldn't use people who don't have a clue what they're doing," Dean said, finally speaking up. "You guys are beat to hell... if you try to help us, you'll just get hurt more. Maybe get one of us hurt-- " he glanced at Sam "-- or worse."

"We can handle ourselves just fine," the man who was supporting Wes snapped. "Once we know what we're dealing with."

"It's gonna take more than pretty costumes an' plastic guns to take these things down," Celia said, her voice condescending. Sensing Jen was the leader of the group, she focused her attention on the young brunette, trying to gauge her, figure out whether or not she really _could _be helpful... the little mini-skirt and snug-fitting hot pink shirt weren't exactly convincing, nor the red lipstick and knee-high, black boots. But there _was _something about her.

Dean watched Celia, noting how she appeared to warm up to Jen just a little bit, and then he knew the answer to the teenager's proposal; he extended his hand to Jen. "Dean Winchester."

Jen took his hand, shaking it. "Jen Scotts," she said, "this is my team... Wes Collins. Lucas Kendall--" the tall, dark-haired man nodded stiffly. "Trip Regis--" the green-haired boy smiled brightly. "And Katie Walker." The black woman was now standing on her own, unsteady, but seemingly in no danger of falling over at any time soon.

"I'm Sam. Dean's brother." Sam nodded to each person. Then reached down and petted the black and tan German Shepherd's neck. "And this is Buckshot." The dog whined quietly and pinned his ears back once.

Celia hesitated for a moment longer, but then reached out with her own scarred and calloused hand, faintly surprised when Jen gripped it firmly, the younger woman's rough skin matching her own. "Red."

"Red? That's it?" Jen grumbled back.

"Her name's Celia Northwind," Dean supplied and only threw a grin back as Celia's flashed red eyes.

"It's Red," Celia growled, " ... we're Hunters. An' those guys?" She glanced back at Dean and Sam, who both smirked. "Those were vampires."

_"Vampires?" _Wes said, incredulously.

"Yeah, yeah... hard to believe. I know," Dean replied. "Not so funny anymore…"

"And what about _you?" _Jen demanded to Celia, suspicion still clouding her eyes.

Celia instantly bristled at the girl's tone, but restrained herself. Not like it was a normal thing to see a chick with blood red hair and eyes, after all... still, she didn't feel the need to explain herself to a complete stranger. "Long story," she supplied, making it clear the story was ending right then and there.

"We'll get our facts straight," Jen said, _"after _we get everyone taken care of... "She looked at Celia: "Follow us? We live at the old clock tower--"

"By the Silver Ring Inn?" Sam interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Don't see any other clock towers around," Jen answered, fatigue and pain bringing a sharp rudeness to her tongue. "Anyway, that's our 'home', I guess... you wanna come with us, you can fill us in on all the details while we patch each other up."

"All right," Celia said, reaching up to adjust the bandanna tied around her head. When she didn't speak Dean elbowed her sharply in the side. She choked on a growl and grudgingly spoke again. "... y'all need a ride?"

"We'll be fine," Jen assured her, turning around with the rest of her team and beginning the walk back to their tower. Katie and Trip helped each other along, while Jen looped an arm around Wes' back, just under his shoulders, though he seemed to be recovering and didn't need much help; they could all just barely be heard muttering to one another, playfully, Jen's voice rising above the rest in a somber tone. Still...

_Just a bunch of kids, _the thought once again crossed Celia's mind. Celia and Dean cocked eyebrows at each other then the redhead snorted and reached into her pocket to slide out a squashed pack of cigarettes and slipped one out between her teeth. "I'm havin' trouble swallowin' that…" she muttered and sniffed loud.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke," Dean muttered and throwing a look over at the two decapitated vampires and nodded towards them. Celia returned the nod as she slipped out a small book of matches and struck two. "I don't have any gas."

"Yeah well, that ain't happenin' anytime soon. And leech blood is practically an oil slick because of all that fermentation anyway…" She puffed and held the still burning matches for a second then tossed them onto the nearest corpse. It hissed and crackled before the smell of burning flesh quickly caught. They stepped away as the blood on the grass started to catch fire, in a few minutes half the park would be ablaze. Jen looked over her shoulder, eyes widening when she saw the burning corpses and Celia and Dean standing still, watching. Disposing of the unexplainable evidence.

"Let's move a little faster guys," Sam encouraged the others to pick up into a stiff jog when he smelled the fire. Buckshot broke into a quick lope, bounding a head of the humans toward the park fence.

"Hey!" Dean called, stopping in midstride on his way back to the Impala.

Jen waved on the others but turned and looked at Dean expectantly, then uttered an exasperated-sounding "What?" as she waited.

"You said you're a 'team'," Dean went on, "uh... what exactly does that mean? You some kind of top-secret, Special Ops unit?"

"Y'all _look _like a bunch of high schoolers," Celia spoke up and nudged Dean back into motion at the heat creeping on their backs.

"And _you _look like something out of Stephen King novel," Jen bit back, crossing her arms. "You won't believe me," she said to Dean.

He held out his hands. "Hey... I just told you vampires exist," he laughed, "can it get any crazier than that?" Celia scoffed at him, knowing damn well it could, and probably would. Vampires were nothing compared to gates leading to Hell... or demons.

But nothing could prepare them for the words that came from Jen next.

"We're from the year three thousand," she said, smiling as the trio's eyes widened in disbelief and shock, "part of a police organization called Time Force. We came here on a mission to stop a mutant, Ransik, from destroying the city... " she paused, her smile widening a little. "Oh yeah, and we're Power Rangers."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm afraid we're going to have to ask our lovely readers for a bit of... suspension of disbelief from this point on. As you all know, the series **_**Power Rangers: Time Force **_**took place in the year 2001, but **_**Supernatural **_**is set years later than that... so, for the purposes of this story, these events are taking place in late-2007. **

…

**Chapter Seven**

…

_**Clock Tower**_

_**12:38 PM**_

"Here it is!" Trip proclaimed, opening his arms to display the enormous clock tower that stood tall and looked out over the city. The Hunters gazes followed the line of his arms, surveying the building with interest, muttering quietly to one another; Jen brushed by them, still helping along Wes, who was growing weaker and weaker by the minute.

"Tell me there's an elevator in there," Dean sighed, wearily.

Lucas chuckled. "No such luck."

The eldest Winchester groaned audibly as he followed them into the tower, a duffel bag full of weapons slung over his shoulder; behind him, Sam, Buckshot and Celia climbed out of the Silverado, pausing a moment to check out the place for themselves. Above them, birds chattered loudly and palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, pasted against the blue, afternoon sky -- just like a still-life painting. The scenery was certainly different than the far-as-the-eye-could-see plains Celia was used to, and very unlike the many unique places Sam and Dean had visited on their travels.

Upon entering the building, their eyes took in a tiny room with a large counter-desk set up on the leftside, and a staircase toward the right leading up too far to see clearly; all the way to the right, work tools were hung on the wall and placed neatly on the floor -- brooms, mops, lawn mowers, and the like. An empty pizza box sat on the counter next to an open cash register, void of any money; there was a cream-colored, old telephone beside the register, and a stack of white papers with hastily scribbled writing on them. Dean scratched his head in confusion, while Sam glanced back at the door and read the words written there:

"Nick of Time Odd Jobs?" he inquired. His hand instinctively dropping down to pet the German Shepherd as Buckshot rubbed against his legs.

"Keeps the cash flow going," Katie said.

"Huh," Dean grunted, " ... so you guys, pay rent for this place?"

"No," Jen answered as she took on the overwhelming stairs, "Wes' dad owns the building."

Celia blinked, then exchanged glances with the boys. Dean was the only one who voiced his thoughts: "Rich kid, huh?"

Wes snorted, a vague smile briefly appearing on his face. "Not anymore."

The long trek upstairs seemed to take forever, but after only five minutes or so, they reached the top and Trip excitedly showed the Hunters their living area; there was an old TV with a beat-up couch facing it, a picnic table cluttered with leftover food and some books, a loft above was set up with mattresses on the floor. A point of interest for Sam was the metal cabinet that had three different locks placed on it, he walked over, curiosity painting his face.

"That's where we keep the ones we capture," Trip supplied.

"Who are you Hunting... gremlins?" Dean chuckled at his own joke.

"Ransik escaped from our time," Jen explained, "using a prison ship. The prison contained hundreds of mutants stored in cryogenic containment. He releases them and sends them into the city whenever he wants to."

"Cryo--?" Dean trailed off, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"The mutants are shrunk down to about twelve inches in height," Jen said, "and stored that way for whatever length of time they were sentenced to. Ransik was supposed to be away for life."

"What happened?" Sam questioned.

Jen sat down at the picnic table, rummaging through a First Aid Kit, for a second Sam thought she was going to ignore him, but she spoke, her voice quiet: "He escaped." Without another word, she pulled down the sleeve to Wes' button-down red shirt, lightly swabbed the wound with alcohol and placed a bandage securely on his battered shoulder; he winced, a tiny whimper escaping from between his lips before he suppressed it.

"That looks like it might need stitches," Sam offered, going to the two and inspecting the jagged wound carefully.

Jen sighed and leaned in to look at the injury again, this time she gently pulled away the skin, bringing another gasp from Wes; at her look, he shut his mouth, pressing his lips together firmly. But she reached up and placed her hand on the arm he had rested on the table, squeezing it gently in comfort before returning to her work.

"It should heal on it's own," she said.

"What happened!?" A mechanical voice chirped loudly. Dean's head whipped around and he lurched back and out of the way, Sam having to do the same when a blue and silver owl swept passed them to land on the table next to Trip. The owl blinked large mechanical eyes and flapped it's stiff wings.

Buckshot's ears pinned back hard and his lips curled back. His hackles rose and the snarl the rippled from the dog's throat was borderline hatred over warning. Sam's hand wrapped tightly around the dog's collar and tugged him back.

"What the Hell is that?" Dean asked coolly, his eyes locked on the robotic bird.

"This is Circuit!" Trip beamed, clearly proud. "I built him!"

"You do know you can buy a toy like that at Target right?" Dean grumbled.

"I'm not a toy!" Circuit chattered, swiveling his head around to look at Dean.

"Sorry. You look like a Furbie to me." Dean shrugged his shoulders and looked towards the silent Celia, their eyes met but she seemed to look right through him.

"And who are you?" Circuit chirped.

"I'm Sam and that's Dean and Red over there, and Buckshot." Sam gave the dog a little jerk by the collar, Sam's blue eyes were flashing with curiosity. He looked towards Trip. "He has a form of intelligence, is it artificial or can he actually learn?"

"So before you geeks start talking 'bout comic cons-" Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, "-You guys are... Power Rangers?" Dean was speaking to Lucas, who eyed him still rather suspiciously.

"Yes," the Blue Ranger said, simply.

"Huh... Sam never believed me when I said you guys existed." Again, Dean laughed. He shot a glance over at Sam, who was watching him and rolling his eyes. "And," he continued, " ... you really wear spandex?"

Lucas glared at him, speaking volumes without saying a word; Trip once again spoke up for the entire team: "They're not just 'spandex'. It's like armor... our suits protect us."

"Armor? You mean like... bullet-proof?" Dean asked, his eyes widening slightly.

"Bullets will hurt us," Trip said, "but not like if we weren't morphed... depending on the caliber, and the range, the bullet might not even pierce our skin."

Dean whistled in admiration, and even Celia looked impressed, but there was obviously something weighing heavily on her mind; she looked around the tower, pausing at the giant bell that hung overhead rather precariously, then again at the multiple bright orange boxes that were just as heavily locked as the cabinet. Letting out a long breath and leaning against a wall, she grumbled, the first time she spoke since walking on the property; then turned her attention to Dean, speaking what had clearly been on her mind. "How the hell did he know 'bout Eli?"

"Who... Eric?" Jen asked.

"Who's Eric?" Celia asked a little harshly.

"That guy that flipped you, asked about a Marine... Elijah Greer," Jen informed.

"His name's Eric Myers, he's the leader of the Silver Guardians," Wes said, rubbing his shoulder gingerly.

"Is Elijah Greer really your brother?" Trip asked.

"Yeah, he is," Celia said absently.

"He must have looked up the license on the truck." Dean shrugged. "Why else would he ask about it?"

"He seemed pissed as Hell, askin' if I killed Eli."

"Maybe he knew him," Wes put in. "Your brother's a Marine?"

Celia narrowed her eyes, clearly unhappy about the idea of sharing more information about her family. "He is."

"Eric was in the Marine Corps... he went in right after school. I kept track of him a little after he disappeared," Wes explained at the looks from his friends. "He did a couple tours overseas. Iraq."

"Damnit, he must've met him," Celia snapped. "Ya know Eli, all he has to do it look at ya and ya'd die for him. No wonder the kid freaked." Celia pushed herself off the wall and started for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Trip asked, hopping up out of his seat, ready to follow.

"I'm goin' to fetch the kid. I don't feel good about him on his own with his scent floatin' all over the place. Valentine's good, but he's still just a dog."

"You don't even know where he lives," Lucas said, calmly.

"I'll track him."

"He doesn't want your help," Jen said, looking over her shoulder toward the other woman.

"Doesn't matter!" Celia called back as she disappeared down the stairs. The Rangers looked toward Dean and Sam.

"Semper Fi," Dean said calmly. "The three of us never enlisted but our dads and her brother, all Marines. We were raised like 'em. Plus he's got her dog... "

…

_**Happy Teeth Toothpaste Offices**_

_**1:43 PM**_

Ransik leaned against the desk, more observing than conducting over the vampire pack. Outside there was the odd rumble and the chatter of rain, the storm had come back in. Dominique had fallen into silence, leaning against a far wall while Dante held court, his twin's casual speech sometimes drifting into insane babblings.

The mutant leader seemed unshaken but his daughter, Nadira, seemed to be growing paler and more sickly as Dante described in detail what happened to every single Hunter that the pack had encountered, right down to the finer details of Gordon Walker's life as a vampire specialized Hunter, before Dixon himself turned him. And how Ol' Sammy Winchester killed the son of a bitch with his hands and a piece of steel cording. Dominique was half waiting for Nadira to vomit, but she swallowed and held herself together, he had to admit that the mutant had a strong stomach.

Dominique's silence snapped suddenly.

"Which of them put up the most fight?" he asked, tonelessly.

The pack went silent and turned their attention toward Dominique.

"Of the Hunters?" Peter asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"We've gone through that before with Walker... vamped Hunters just end up dead," Dominique said, "Fallen on the knives of other Hunters."

"That first male," Dixon snorted, "... the bigger one, Eric, I think they called him."

"And that brunette bitch can scrap," Dante sniffed.

Dominique nodded his head slowly, the rest of the pack waited, tense for command.

"Something in mind, Dominique?" Ransik tisked with a twisted grin.

"I want them for the pack." Dominique growled.

The smile slipped from Ransik's lips.

"What?" Nadira asked, quietly.

"Bring them in... I'll turn them. Kill the rest," Dominique commanded. The pack rose as one and walked out of the room, Dante snagging a black T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he went.

"What are you doing?" Ransik snapped.

"I want my seven back," Dominique replied, coolly.

. . .

_**Residence of Eric Myers**_

_**1:56 PM**_

Eric waited for a second, sucking in shallow breaths to try and control the ache that burned just below his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fought like that, taken a beating like that. The sharp, throbbing pain racing over his ribs, stomach and especially around his eyes and damaged throat refused to ease, no matter how many aspirins he downed. Everything -- even his teeth -- hurt. He swallowed, flinching in pain.

And he still hadn't figured out that bitch... or her friends.

His eyes turned down at the soft whine that drifted up from the white German Shepherd standing at his hip,

he hadn't noticed the dog 'til after ignoring offers from fellow Silver Guardians and paramedics for help and hauling open the door to his SUV. The animal had almost knocked him over vaulting over the driver's seat and sat in the passenger spot.

Eric had barely controlled his surprise and anger. Still holding to his tortured torso he tried to order the dog out, coax him out, even reached to pull him physically out. Almost getting his hand bitten was enough for Eric to grudgingly get into the drivers seat, call in to clock out of his shift and head home. He even did the dog a favor and rolled down the window. Now the dog was standing patiently at his side in his kitchen, listening and watching with an intensity that gave Eric a mild case of the creeps. The way the dog moved, acted and reacted gave the impression of deep intelligence, he was too smart for Eric's taste.

That didn't change the ball of gratefulness that was settled in his stomach. The dog had literally saved his life and in the aftermath stayed with him.

"Hang on, buddy," Eric croaked, his voice damaged by Dixon's grip. He hoped it wasn't permanent. To him it sounded like he was speaking with a throat full of gravel: Hoarse, almost whispered and in cracked and broken speech. And it hurt like hell.

The white dog eased down to sit on the tile and waited quietly, he finished filling the large plastic bowl and putting it on the floor; the dog arched his neck and took a few laps of water before licking his lips and looking back to Eric. The man carefully eased himself down, flinching in pain until his legs were crossed and he got the chance to breathe a little easier; thankfully he had traded out the Silver Guardians uniform for a loose pair of jeans and a large T-shirt, the lighter clothes and looser fit eased the few ounces of extra weight that made all the difference. He rested for a second before reaching up to the counter top and drawing down a small towel.

"Alright, come here," Eric coaxed. The dog rose to his feet stepped over and sat back down again within Eric's easy reach. "Gotta get cleaned up."

The dog sat still while Eric dipped the cloth into the water, soaking it, then leaned forward and carefully started to wash out the dog's snow white fur. The German Shepherd's coat was streaked with pink and red, especially around his jaws and muzzle. Blood left on him from mauling that... thing.

"You did a good job out there, pal," Eric rasped quietly, focusing on putting the white shine back in the dog's fur. "Hell of a job."

The dog let out a soft wuffle of noise.

"What's your name anyway... " Eric hesitated and reached for the two collars around the dog's throat, he surpassed the metal links of the prong collar and went for the thick leather band. He twisted it around in his hands, looking for some defining mark. Instead of a set of tags there was a small silver plate screwed into the leather with a single word engraved into the surface.

"Valentine, huh?" Eric said softly and went back to washing the blood out. "Not bad. Bet you're with those guys, huh? The redhead and her buddies?"

Valentine shifted, licked his lips and thumped his tail. He liked the soft tones of Eric's voice.

"What you'd run off for then?" Eric scrubbed the blood out of his throat fur and worked toward his front paws. Valentine lifted a large paw and scratched at Eric's knee and whined. He couldn't help but smile and reach to scratch Valentine's chest.

The dog suddenly went still and cocked his ears toward the door.

"What is it, Valentine?" Eric asked, turning to look toward his door.

Eric glanced up when the sound of knuckles rattled across the wood of the front door. He twitched and stared at the door, not remembering the last time he'd gotten a visitor. It sent a prickle up his spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he tensed up and carefully pushed himself to his feet, stalked forward, twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

He jumped inwardly and out, caught completely off-guard, then hardened, he practically bared his teeth at the redhead standing in the doorway, rain falling down behind her. Her clothes had changed, clean jeans, tee shirt and an unbuttoned flannel shirt of red and black plaid... a black Stetson hat was perched on her head.

"Hey, kid. How's tricks?" She flashed him a casual smile and shoved her way passed him into his home even as Eric reacted to the term 'kid' with an angry snarl. Valentine barked happily and rushed up, wagging his tail and rubbing himself against her legs. "Hey Val. Go wait in the truck." The albino barked, brushing against Eric's legs as he galloped out the door and out of sight. Eric's teeth ground unhappily.

"What the hell do you want!? Get out!" He spat.

"Nice place," She ignored him and scanned the room. She seemed to be soaking in every detail from the center of the room.

"Get out," Eric snapped again, his grip in the knob so tight his hand was almost white.

"Bachin' it right? Good job on the theme it's very... " she said, continuing to ignore him. She reached for a small book about criminal law, lifting it off the coffee table and looking at it and the rest of the décor of the room. "…driven. Driven is a good word." She tossed he book back onto the table top.

"Leave!" Eric snapped violently, his throat protesting in pain.

"... could be law enforcement material. Thing is would ya pass the psych eval?" She stepped casually passed him into the kitchen. He had enough. He jumped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Leave. Now."

She cocked an eyebrow at him then stepped around him so smoothly he practically missed the movement, he twisted in time to watch her pull open his refrigerator and stand back to look at it for a few a seconds before swinging it shut again.

"Ya eat like a rabbit, kid," Celia sighed.

Eric grit his teeth. "It's healthy. What do you want?" he growled, figuring that he wasn't going to get her to leave unless it was by force. She shrugged one shoulder and started toward the back rooms, she froze at the soft sound of feathers ruffling and a chirp. Eric tensed so tightly he almost bit through his cheek.

Celia twisted all her attention toward the small metal cage sitting on its stand in the corner of the living room, she moved toward the cage, her blood colored eyes flashing in interest. "These boys yers?" she asked and bent to look into the cage a little better.

"Yes," Eric said, flatly.

Celia let out a soft whistle, the finches returned it. Her smile widened. "How sweet." She turned to look over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes at his face. "Look, kid," she grumbled, standing to her full height, rolling her shoulders back and stuffing her hands into her pockets. "There's trouble comin'--"

"I can handle myself," Eric said, cutting her off.

"No, ya can't. Ya might be the chief of some pricey corporation's personal security thing but it's still Wackenhut. And these ain't some punk kids in the local mall. These are animals. Monsters--"

"I've handled monsters before."

"Not like this!" Celia said sharply, her control snapping and her red eyes flooding black for a moment. She took a deep breath, red settling back into place before she spoke again. "These things... this is not a loner sport and I swear to God I'll tell ya everythin', but ya have got to trust me."

Eric snorted. "Trust? 'Cuz I have every reason to trust _you."_

"They got yer scent, Eric."

All his attention snapped to her at the use of his name... the statement sank in and he shivered involuntarily at the idea that was behind those few short words.

"They don't never forget a scent. They will hunt ya down, destroy everythin' ya have and butcher ya like an animal. I'm just askin' ya grab a couple things and ya wait it out a couple days at the Clock Tower--"

"I'm not going there," Eric said, quickly. "You can forget it."

"Fine. Ya can crash in the room me and the boys got, we won't be sleepin' much anyway. Soon as the packs dead you get yer life back. Three days tops."

"Pack of what?"

Celia swallowed thickly and shook her head. "I'll tell ya in the truck. It's either crash with us or... " She looked him over; the kid was clearly unafraid of death, that was one threat that wasn't going to budge him. "... or I crash with ya."

"What?"

"Ya get yerself yer own personal Hunter houseguest." Celia smiled at the clear distress on his face. "I'll eat yer food, and use yer shower and scratch yer DVDs--" she looked toward the couch and TV set, amending her statement: "Or... ruin your videos."

"No."

Celia paused and waited. Eric's eyes boiled with hatred. He was sure that he would be able to handle himself, but he didn't have a clue what he was fighting. And she promised to tell him _everything_. Still... he couldn't just trust some random chick off the street. Especially one who was driving a truck that didn't belong to her.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, firmly.

Celia sighed impatiently. "Well then... I'm staying here."

"The Hell you are!" Eric came toward her quickly. He slammed his fist against the wall behind her, his arm inches from her face. "You either get out of my house, or I call the cops right now... unless you can give me a reason to believe a word out of your mouth."

Celia's eyes flicked down his arm then back to his face, narrowed at the threat if only the kid had the slightest idea the kind of threats she'd gotten in the past. She crossed her arms protectively, then spoke, her voice hard: "What if I can prove to ya' that I'm Elijah Greer's sister?"

"That might help you."

"Ugh... fine." She reached into her back pocket and retrieved a tattered, leather wallet. She flipped through it for a second before finding what she was looking for and producing a tiny picture and holding it out to Eric, who took it and held it in front of his face. The picture showed Elijah Greer, just the way he remembered him, only in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, standing next to Celia with his arm draped around her shoulders, hugging her close with a grin on his face. They were in a field somewhere, miles and miles of brown land stretching out behind them, a buckskin horse at Celia's side.

"That was taken 'fore he shipped out…" Celia muttered, " ...on the deployment he's on right now."

"Where's he at?"

"Where do ya' _think?_" She snarled, a nerve clearly struck.

Eric glared at her and handed the picture back. "So... you're his sister."

"That's right." She folded her wallet back up and stuffed it into her pocket. "Convinced?"

"I'm convinced you know the guy," Eric said, "That doesn't mean much though. I still don't know who you are."

"Name's Celia... Celia Northwind." His eyebrows shot up, prodding her on. "I'm here to Hunt down those bastards that kicked yer ass this mornin'. An' I know ya don't have a reason to trust me-- or believe anythin' I say --but I don't really care. Yer in a Hell of a lot o' danger here, an' I ain't leavin' ya' alone."

He could tell that she was serious about it, and he had to admit he didn't really want to call the cops on her... didn't really have much of a case anyway, not if her story about being Elijah's sister was true and they could get in contact with him. Besides, there was always that chance she _was _telling the truth.

"Fine," he said finally, and grudgingly stomped to his bedroom. He could feel the redhead's victorious smile and eyes on his back as he went about digging out an old duffel bag and stuffing a few things into it; a pair of jeans, a few shirts but mostly weapons from his personal collection and ammunition. He wasn't going to play around with laser guns and rubber bullets.

Muttering to himself he stalked back out of his room and nearly jumped out of his skin as he was shoved roughly back against the wall, a hand planted firmly over his mouth and nose. His first instinct to bite down was halted when he met Celia's blood-colored eyes, she gave her head the barest shake and Eric went rigid, pressing himself closer to the wall as Celia leaned her weight toward him. She seemed to be holding her breath so he did the same.

His eyes snapped toward the hall and his living room when there was a soft thump followed by a tinkle of glass breaking. There were low animalistic growls and the sound of more movements and louder, more reckless tossing of his furniture and fixtures. More breaking glass and curses starting to bounce around the walls.

Celia's hand put pressure against his mouth and his hip where she pinned him down, Eric's attention turned back to her, Celia nodded toward the other end of the hall and released him. He resented the idea of leaving his home open to intruders and moved to go after whoever was in his house, his resolve to confront them broke when Celia reached back and sharply grabbed his arm and yanked him after her, leaving his duffel behind. Eric filled his chest silently with air again before holding his breath, and followed on Celia's heels. They maneuvered as silently as they could down the hall, into his "study". Eric's teeth ground together, his carefully put-together work room had been destroyed in the matter of seconds. Papers and shredded fabric all over the place, furniture tipped over. How the hell had he missed the sound of his computer being ripped in half?

Celia led the way through the shattered glass of the sliding doors and into the backyard, she hesitated only a second to make sure Eric was still with her. He read her intentions and they raced at the fence at the same time, lunging up, grabbing the top and hauling themselves up and over together. They hit the dirt of the neighbors yard. Eric quickly checked around for Alice-- the little girl who lived next door and had befriended him --but thankfully the rain kept everyone inside while he and Celia were getting soaked in a hurry. She didn't stop, leading him forward to scale the other fence into one more yard, then they slipped through the gate onto the front lawns of Eric's street.

Eric ducked his head against the rain and followed the redhead step for step, she jogged further down the street, her pace slowing considerably to almost a walk. Eric dropped down to walk beside her, his entire body tensed from the near-confrontation, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment for having run away from it. Celia still didn't speak to him or seem to be breathing much as they swiftly crossed the street to the parked Silverado where Valentine was curled up under the truck's belly, waiting to be rescued from the rain. Then Celia broke into a fit of coughing, slipping the keys out of her pocket and unlocking the truck automatically; Eric, seething, forced himself to climb into the passenger seat and yanked the door shut with sheer violence. He controlled his voice until Valentine had climbed into the backseat and Celia's door was shut, then he let out an almost strangled shout.

"I ran from those things!"

"Kid, trust me... standin' there and gettin' gutted wasn't the best idea," Celia muttered. "It's no big, I've retreated plenty of times, ya just come back stronger and better prepared."

"I don't run," Eric snarled.

She cast her eyes toward him. "And yer still alive?"

Eric glared at her, baring his teeth slightly.

"Whatever, get yer seatbelt on and hold out yer hands." She started fidgeting with the buttons of her shirt pockets.

"Why?" Eric demanded, his eyes still locked on his house.

"'Cause I got yer birds in my pocket."

Eric's head snapped around so hard his vision spun. "What?"

Celia looked apologetic. "Well, short notice, ya got to make due." She extracted the first of the two finches from one flannel pocket, carefully cupping it in her hands. The frightened bird let out a small squeak. Eric instantly reached for the animal, expressing all his care in taking the finch and cradling it in his hands.

His heart thumped wildly, feeling the little heart beating against his palms. He'd all but forgotten the birds in his retreat. Relief flushed through his systems. He looked at Celia expectantly and hopefully as she gingerly eased the other bird free from her pocket and gently passed it into Eric's hands with its cage mate. Terrified and shivering, but alive and whole.

"Nothin' worse than a few bent feathers and scared to death," Celia sighed settling into her seat and cranked the engine of the truck to life. She didn't wait for another second before pulling away from the curb and getting away from the neighborhood as swiftly as possible, not so much obeying traffic laws as just trying to avoid getting pulled over or hitting another motorist. "I wouldn't leave 'em there to get eaten... or worse... " She shivered a little. "... So where's the nearest pet store?"

"Why?" Eric asked, quietly.

"Well, ya can't sit there holdin' 'em all day... plus I need some dog food."

Valentine barked from the back seat.

"About five miles away there's a PetSmart. North."

"That'll work. Call me Red by the way."

"Eric."

"That's what I heard." She steered the truck northward and leaned forward to turn on the radio, switching the station from a classic rock to a quiet country station. Eric listened for a second before his eyes locked on his cupped hands, cradled against his stomach; the finches glared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, as if accusing him of some wrong-doing. He smirked, gently running his thumb down the back of one of them. He'd bought the birds when he was fresh out of the military and lonely, animals were something a man could count on, unlike anything else... he looked over at Celia, who kept her eyes on the road. Never one to not acknowledge things, he found his voice:

"Thanks," he said, softly.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

…

_**Ransik's HideOut -- The Prison Ship**_

_**2:30 PM**_

"He wasn't... _there?"_ The words were forced from Dominique's lips, spat out as if the sound of them disgusted him. He glared at his pack as they cowered from him, one man against four but as intimidating as Goliath himself; he crossed his threatening, thick arms over his broad chest, breathing deeply as he continued to seethe with fury.

"He was gone before we even got there," Dixon said, softly. "But just barely, the walls were dripping with his scent."

"We found a duffel bag-- " Dante held up the dark green bag, disdain plainly written on his face " --looks like he was packing up to go." He growled beneath his breath. "Must've figured out we were coming for him... the Hunters, most likely."

"Shit!" Dominique grasped the nearest cyclobot by its neck and hurled it across the room, smashing it into the wall; it sparked with electricity as it fell to the floor, then lay limp, twitching ever-so-slightly. Dominique slapped a hand over his face and slowly dragged it down, wiping away any sweat beads that had gathered on his brow until he was rubbing his throat. "The Hunters... we could have taken this city by now if not for them!" He sneered. "We turn our attention to them now, and _only _them."

"They're as good as dead," Peter shot out, confidently.

"Do _not _underestimate them," Dixon said, sullenly.

"Don't think we can handle it?" Peter quickly went on the defensive, baring his fanged teeth at the older man.

"I think you don't have any idea what you're talking about," Dixon replied, completely unfazed by the teen's angered appearance. He stepped up and glowered down at him, his hot breath bearing the unmistakable stench of alcohol and floating into Peter's nose, causing him to gag slightly and then take a small step backwards.

Ransik pushed himself off from the wall where he'd been resting, watching with carefully concealed interest, biding his time for the perfect moment to speak; he addressed Dominique, who was glaring furiously at his bickering pack: "You can't even control your own team... how do you expect to control a city?"

Dominique growled and shot out his fisted hand in fury, but Ransik easily deflected the blow and snapped his own hand around Dominique's neck in a powerful grip that the vampire leader couldn't shake; the mutant smiled sickly at him, his deformed face twisting. "The next time you try that... I'll kill you," he promised, then roughly shoved the vampire away without so much of a grunt of effort.

"Now," Ransik said, smiling in his smug way as Dominique rubbed his neck, nearly shaking with anger. "I will handle them... the Rangers _and _the Hunters. You and your 'pack' can drop by for sloppy seconds."

"You're not giving the Hunters enough credit," Dante snapped, "they'll rip you in half!"

Ransik laughed. "Humans... with bullets--"

"Some bullets are different than others." Dante growled under his breath, only loud enough for the pack to hear.

"--and knives?" Behind him, Nadira giggled to herself as she played with her long fingernails; Ransik gestured to his daughter. "Nadira could obliterate them without any thought! They won't be a problem... you go after the Rangers, if you wish. But I would be wary, now they know what they're facing... they won't be as weak as the first time."

Dominique scoffed. "They were _teenagers."_

"Who are trained using technology and knowledge one thousand _years _ahead of your own," Ransik said, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing.

Silence fell over the gray-cast room as the vampire pack took in the startling information, Nadira leaned against the doorway and smirked at them, Frax-- Ransik's robotic assistant --came to stand next to her, his face expressionless but a small snicker escaping from his mouth. Finally, Angelique spoke up, her voice dripping with doubt: "You're telling us... you're from the future?"

"As if that's any _crazier _than _vampires,"_ Nadira said.

Angelique hissed at her, and she returned the threatening move by striking out with her hand, her painted fingernails hardening and extending a good twelve inches and forming dangerously sharp ends. Angelique blinked but didn't back down until Dante yanked her back, baring his own teeth at Nadira.

Ransik turned away from his daughter and focused on Dominique again. "Yes," he said, "We are from the year three thousand... I came here in an effort to avoid having to deal with Time Force." He frowned. "But I was followed. By the Rangers."

"So... you're a fugitive?" Dixon questioned.

"Yes. Last one left on Earth, in my time."

Dante sniffed, "Common criminal." He muttered.

"But _what _exactly are you?" Dominique demanded, "You're sure as shit not _human._"

"Well, actually... in a way, that's exactly what I am." Ransik went on to explain... early in the 30th Century, scientists were working diligently to achieve genetic perfection, every single baby born would have perfect DNA. But, like all experiments, something went horribly wrong. One of the scientists, a new girl who had just joined the staff, dropped a vial containing a toxic material ... no one suspected that it would seep through to the sewers and mutate itself, becoming Ransik himself. Over the course of the entire thing, many mutants were produced as a result; some already existed, regardless of the experiment, others came into the world as human fetuses, and were mutated into creatures mankind grew to hate. They were shunned, turned away, nearly brought to the point of extinction by the lack of compassion showed to them when they begged for food or shelter. That was, of course, 'til Ransik found them. He organized as many mutants as he could find and made them into a gang, together they reeked havoc on the Silver City for over thirty years. One by one, the Time Force personnel took them down and placed them into cryogenic containment... it was the only time the government had ever shown any interest in the bastards of society. Ransik and his daughter were the last ones left.

"Quite a story," Dante mused, when Ransik finished. "A little... hard to believe, wouldn't you say?"

"Nevertheless... completely true."

"And next thing you'll tell us... aliens exist," Dominique said, dryly.

"I don't think you're quite ready for that," Ransik replied.

"So those 'Rangers' ... they're here to capture you?" Ransik nodded, and Peter went on: "They sure didn't act like trained professionals when they were up against _us_. A little weird you find them so difficult." His adolescent smirk sunk into Ransik's skin and made his blood boil. He thought of the former Red Ranger, a man named Alex, who had briefly captured him, somehow managed to best him. The memory was enough to drive him into a fit of rage. But he calmed it by remembering how he coldly took Alex's life, offering him no mercy.

"You've made a grave mistake," he warned the pack, "but you'll realize this on your own the next time you encounter the Rangers. Now -- " he slammed his fist into his knee and pulled out a long sword, sneering when Angelique cringed slightly. " -- I'm going to clean up your mess."

. . .

_**Silver Hills PetsMart**_

_**2:30 PM**_

Eric kept his eyes shut, his temple pressed against the cool glass of the Silverado's passenger side. He listened to Valentine panting in the backseat, the soft rustle of the finches in his hands and the rumble of thunder and rain hitting the truck. His could feel his own heart rate alongside the finches in his hands... of course his was much slower... even slower than natural. He'd forced his heart to slow down, it was a trick he'd picked up on a short tour through India. A meditation kind of thing that saved energy and restored strength to the core. He was still aching internally for running from a fight, especially literally on his home turf. Keeping himself calm, surrounded by the naturally soothing sound of rain and the comfort of animals... it helped.

His small escape was ripped apart suddenly when the backseat driver's side door crackled open and Valentine started whining and fussing. Eric cracked his eyes open in time to watch a massive bag of dog food drop heavily into the seat, along with a large plastic bag then the door swung closed. He straightened himself in the passenger seat as Celia climbed in and swung the door closed. She was half-soaked in rain and panting slightly, and was holding a simple metal bird cage to her chest; she looked over at him, water dripping from the brim of her Stetson cowboy hat.

"Do PetsMart people get paid by commission?"

Eric blinked and shrugged his shoulders, his eyes moving to the cage. Celia saw the look and turned it around, opening the small door for Eric to transfer the two finches into their new habitat.

"They must, usually I don't get talked into stuff but--" she looked up at him, passing the cage over "--damn. It was like she could smell I didn't know shit. Half that stuff I don't even know what it's for."

Eric couldn't really process why she was talking to him like he was an old friend... _nobody _talked to him like that. _Not since Wes anyway. _The son of the business tycoon had made an effort back in their prep school days, Eric had to acknowledge that, what is ulterior motives were... he never found out. Shrugging himself out of his thoughts, Eric adjusted the cage on his lap, watching as the finches flitted around, clearly pleased with their new freedom.

"Do birds really eat rocks or was she just gettin' me to buy stuff?" she asked. "Be honest, I won't go kick her ass or nothin', but I don't like bein' lied to."

"They eat gravel sometimes to help digest their food," Eric informed her.

She sighed and nodded. "All right, I guess that makes sense."

"She got you, huh?" Eric asked.

"Yeah she got me."

He felt the barest tug at his lips for a smile before it was gone.

She rubbed the water off her face before starting the engine. The Silverado rumbled into life, the wheels sliding a little before catching on the slick asphalt. Eric waited until they were on the road heading toward the Clock Tower, the hair on the back of his neck slowly rising.

"What was it a pack of?" he asked, still tonelessly. He was keeping himself as emotionless as possible. He didn't know how much he could trust her yet, it was dangerous to leave himself open, especially when he had only a slight idea what she was capable of.

He heard her sigh heavily and her teeth slid together. They didn't grind, just rubbed together.

"You said you'd tell me everything."

"Vampires."

Eric blinked, training the shock that would have bubbled onto his face into a frown. "No such thing."

"We used to think so, too... only 'cause we figured they were extinct. But lo and behold... one diseased son of a bitch survives and the epidemic has a chance to start fresh... yay."

"You're lying to me," Eric spat, finally turning his eyes toward her.

"I'm not," she returned calmly. Eric filled his chest to argue but it died in his throat when he met her eyes.

The blood red color looking steadily at him, without wavering or blinking.

"I want to know everything," Eric stated, flatly.

"It's a lot to know... can it wait?"

"You said--"

"I know what I said, but I'd rather shake the pack first, rain helps but there are better ways--"

"They're following our scent?"

"Damn straight they are... and they won't lose it. Not 'til we're dead." Celia focused on the road ahead, stretching out before them and glistening with the headlights that reflected onto it's wet surface. "Or they are."

"Did they get the Rangers' scents, too?"

"They got us all... that reminds me, better warn 'em."

"Shit." Quickly, Eric brought his morpher up -- even as Celia flipped open her cell phone.

"I got it," she said. "There's a reason they came after ya again so fast. They would have known that we would be watchin' ya... " She hit a number for speed dial and pressed it to her ear. Eric watched her chew her bottom lip. "Sammy... somethin' ain't sittin' right. Get those kids outta that Clock, their scent is all over it... I got him but just a step ahead... do it now, that pack is movin'... all right, I'll meet ya'll there."

Eric took a deep breath as she snapped the phone shut and tossed it into the cup holder. "Meet them where?" he asked, sharply.

"The Silver Ring."

The motel he had spent his first few nights in the city at, before he settled into the one-story building in what Wes would probably call the "ghetto" of Silver Hills. He sighed, impatiently. "You promised me you'd tell me everything," he said, sharply, "start talking or pull over."

Celia sighed and licked her teeth.

"What are you?"

"Physically. Female," Celia said sarcastically.

Eric snarled under his breath.

"All right, all right... I'm a Hunter."

"Like deer and bear. Big game?"

"No like windegos and werewolves. Big game. But I don't got time to tell ya the story... gotta focus on this road and make sure we get to the Ring safely. So can it wait?"

Eric watched her for a few long seconds before he turned his eyes forward again. "It can wait," he said quietly.

_**The Clock Tower**_

_**2:30 PM**_

Jen sat in the window of the tower, her eyes scanning the city before her... for what, even she didn't know. But her years spent at the Time Force Academy, and her time spent on the streets of Silver City with Alex had forced her to become a more alert, suspicious person, always on the lookout for something... anything. She recognized that same trait in the older of the two Winchester men, Dean. He stood by the staircase, every now and then glancing down the long flight of steps, his hand poised to snatch the knife tucked into it's carrier on his belt.

The younger brother, Sam, was standing by the picnic table with his cell phone to his ear, his face pinching with worry; she was only able to hear one half of the conversation, but it concerned her: "Red? What's wrong? ... Did you get Eric in time? ... All right, we'll head out as soon as we can ... okay, got it. See you soon." He snapped the phone shut and gestured to Dean. "We've gotta move."

"What's going on?" Jen questioned, jumping down and joining the brothers.

"The pack is tracking us," Sam answered, "They've already attacked Eric --"

"Is he okay?" Wes asked, slowly sitting up from the couch, rubbing his side tenderly and grimacing.

"He and Red made it out," Sam said, "but they could be on their way over here right now. We've gotta go."

"We can't leave!" Jen stated, "we have boxes and boxes full of weapons... technology that won't be discovered for hundreds of years. Not to mention over ten cryogenically contained mutants that Ransik could reanimate if he discovered them!" She shook her head and crossed her arms. "No, we're staying."

"If you stay, you'll die." That came from Dean, who met her determined gaze with his own.

"We weren't ready before... we can take them this time."

"Half your team is down." Dean snapped.

"We can't leave all of this!"

"Jen," Sam spoke up, stepping between the quarreling pair, "They won't be interested in your fancy equipment, okay? Vampires rely on their own hands, they don't use weapons. They're predators."

"Yeah, they've got _fangs _instead," Dean said, dryly.

Sam glared at him, then looked back at Jen. "There's no reason to think Ransik will discover this place just because you're not here... he doesn't know yet, does he?" Jen shook her head, so he continued: "And vampires are a tight-knit group, so it's safe to say they're not working together. The pack could come here, and Ransik would never even know about it... but if you stay, you won't only just die. You'll be turned."

Lucas pushed himself up from his seat at the table. "'Turned'?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like," Dean said. "Vamped. _Undead._ Not breathing but drinking."

"If you really care about your team... you'll let us get you guys to safety," Sam pleaded.

Jen blinked twice, processing their words, slowly taking them in. Finally, she spoke: "All right... we'll go. But we have to come back tonight, just to check in and be sure."

"Not a problem," Sam assured her, visibly relieved.

"Let's get the Hell out of Dodge," Dean said.

_**Silver Ring Motel**_

_**2:55 PM**_

"Do you really have to burn that stuff?" Trip muffled out, his fingers pinched tightly around his nose and trying to breath through his mouth. His eyes were starting to water.

"Yep," Sam returned, emotionlessly. He toyed absently with the clay bowl full of smoking Skunk Weed. The plants were filling the air in the room with a horrible stench that smelled something like a compost heap full of rotting meat. "You're going to have to rub it in your hair and on your clothes once it's ash."

"No way," Lucas growled. Trip wasn't the only Ranger suffering from the smell. They were all trying to breathe through their mouths and keep their eyes from watering. The worst part was breathing through the mouth the burning plants left a worse taste on the tongue.

"You'll do it if you want to live out the next couple of days," Dean said, harshly.

"Why?" Wes muttered, flinching when Jen pressed bandages against the wound in his bicep.

"Vampires don't lose a scent once they get it. They'll hunt you guys down in twelve hours flat... " Sam continued, absently. "They can't smell through this stuff."

"Can't imagine why," Jen deadpanned.

"Why can't we just put a stake through their hearts, like in Dracula?" Trip asked, looking at the three Hunters hopefully. All three seemed disinterested in talking, they were reserved, speaking somewhat stiffly and a little more cryptically than the Rangers would have liked. And Eric sat totally silent on one of the hotel room's beds, his legs and arms crossed tightly against his frame and his jaw locked so hard it looked painful. Next to him on the mattress, the two German Shepherds were dozing casually.

"They don't work that way," Dean sighed. "Real vampires only drop when there's nothing above the neck.

The sun doesn't hurt 'em worse than a bad sunburn, silver doesn't do shit and forget crucifixes. Only thing that slows 'em down is a nice dose of dead man's blood."

"Dead man's blood?" Jen's eyebrows lifted.

"Literally the blood drained out of a corpse. Human, of course," Dean snorted.

"It's like blood poisoning." Sam lifted a hand and scratched his temple. "Where's your morgue?"

"The city morgue?" Wes said, hesitantly. "... Why?"

"What the Hell did they just explain to ya, Princess," Celia grumbled from her place, standing near the window and looking out across the street, through the rain for any kind of movement around the Clock Tower. Sam and Dean had taken it upon themselves to light several similar bowls of burning herbs around the building, but it needed a little time before the burning ash overpowered the Rangers' scent saturated in the Tower. "We used the little I had on ice this mornin'... need a lot more... "

"What are you guys?" Lucas muttered.

"Like Red said--" Sam cleared his throat and finally focused himself from some deep reverie. "--we're Hunters."

"You know what we are, be clear," Jen growled, clearly not happy about being driven from their home, even if it was only for a few hours. "What _kind _of Hunters?"

"Big game," Eric muttered from his place on the bed and Celia let out a small snort.

"What?" Katie asked, looking confused and unsure, much like her other companions.

"We put down what needs putting down. No matter what it is... spirits, werewolves, shapeshifters, zombies... vampires--" Dean looked pointedly at the Rangers "--witches, black dogs, even a couple of humans. You name it... all those old world beasties and new world urban legends that they love making B- movies out of. We find it, Hunt it down and kill it, before it hurts more people."

The Rangers looked between the solemn faces of the Hunters.

"You're serious... " Jen said quietly. "You're saying that all those 'bed time stories' are _real?"_

"All stories start off true." Sam sighed and yawned, he was looking more and more exhausted by the second. "They just grow--"

"Like this pile of bull?" Lucas growled.

"You don't believe this? From what you guys have told us your wrist watches turn you into super-powered ballerinas and you fight big, nasty, genetically created mutants and get the occasional care package from home in the year three thousand. And this... that there really are ghosts and gods, that's hard." Dean rolled his eyes and looked toward Celia.

"Hey, don't give me the eyes. I'm still not swallowin' the whole bit about their pet alien over there." Celia motioned toward Trip.

The green haired teen looked a little flustered and clearly borderline offended. "I'm not a pet."

"Newsflash boy, ya ain't an alien either," Celia snapped back.

"Red," Sam sighed. "It's possible--"

"No! It's not! _No one _has ever crossed an alien before, i.e. they don't exist!"

"We've met aliens before--" Katie started and was cut short.

"No one of merit. No Hunter," Celia growled.

"So just because you've never _met _one, means they don't exist?" Jen blurted out, "Yet here you are expecting us to believe some ridiculous story about Casper and his friends!"

"Red--" Sam started again

"Winchester, ya mean to tell me that five thousand years of experience, trainin', discipline, and record keepin' is wrong? Five thousand years of Huntin' back to Saint Michael himself, no word of bodies from foreign stars, no extraterrestrials mentioned, not even breathed. No Hunter alive today would put salt in it. In five thousand years of good and bad Hunters, _someone _would have mentioned _somethin'_ if it was real!"

"Hunter accounts have been wrong before, we used to think vampires were _extinct!"_ Sam argued back.

"Bet you didn't believe in mutants-- or _time travel_ --before this, either," Jen shot out.

Celia narrowed her eyes at the Pink Ranger, but kept her voice directed at Sam: "Bobby told ya there was no such thin'! He's checked it out himself!"

"Bobby doesn't know everything," Sam pressed.

"There is nothin' ya can do or say that will convince me that he is an alien."

"I am! I'm from the planet Xybria!" Trip finally threw himself into his own argument.

"He is! I can give you a complete history of the planet!" the mechanical owl, Circuit offered.

"I'm not takin' my information from an oversized MP3 player," Celia snapped, her temper clearly flushing her face.

"And you get to make these judgments!? _What are you!?_" Jen lashed out in defense.

"I'm a demon!"

Silence met the declaration. Dean and Sam tensed, clearly upset by her outburst. Celia seemed to be shaking a little.

"Celia--" Dean started before he was cut off.

"Possessed... " Celia corrected herself, but she seemed rattled, just like the Winchesters. "I mean, I'm possessed...by a demon... "

Jen snorted in disbelief, but Sam and Dean were watching Celia with anxiety carefully hidden under the surface.

"M'amin--" Dean started.

"Twenty six years and the line starts blurrin'... that's it--" Celia responded shortly, clearly disturbed by her own actions.

"It's not supposed to," Dean returned and Celia met his eyes.

"Well that's what the Sixes are for." Celia referred to the Colt made six-shooters in their arsenals. Dean's eyes narrowed and Celia shrugged him off; sighing, she reached up and pulled off her Stetson hat and the bandanna, tossing them onto the nearest bed. The Rangers and Eric started, eyes locked on her hair line.

"You have horns... " Wes rasped out.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**. . .**

_**The Silver Ring Inn, Room 34**_

_**3:00 PM**_

"You have horns…"

Wes almost jumped out of his skin when Dean's hand slammed down on his sore shoulder, making the Red Ranger flinch, then cringe in pain. The way Dean's hand and nails dug into the younger man's collar bone was a clear warning to watch what he said and made sure that the other Rangers read the same threat; Jen's eyes flashed protectively though, and she snapped at Dean: "Get your hands off him."

Dean rolled his eyes toward the girl, then glanced back down at Wes. "Sure can't get anything passed you, huh?" he said. His tone was light, even calm, and a smile was on his face. Wes only cringed further away from him until Dean's hand lifted its dangerous hold on his pained limb; Wes suffered for another few seconds when Dean pounded him on the back then unceremoniously slapped him upside the head as the elder Winchester walked toward the window.

"If you're a demon how the hell can we trust you?" Eric had already pushed himself up off the bed and was backing away. The younger man's dark eyes narrowed and he seemed to hunch up, as if trying to make himself look bigger even as he backed away from her. Instinct and training were kicking into Eric's best advantage, doing everything possible to make himself seem like an animal that a demon wouldn't want to pick a fight with. He actually felt his chest vibrating with the beginning of a growl and only stopped retreating when there was nine feet between them.

"When the hell have I ever given ya a single reason not to trust me? I've had plenty of chances to gut ya or throw ya to the leeches," Celia spat back, her calm cracking and she prowled a step closer, her red eyes flickering with shadows.

"How about when you put a knife to my throat!" Eric snarled.

"Ya came after me first!" Celia stalked closer to Eric.

"You were interfering-- "

Dean reacted instantly, uncomfortable with her closing the distance when she was clearly losing her cool. Even if there was still seven feet between them, Dean grabbed her arm and tugged her back another few feet; her eyes flickered to him, Dean lifted a hand, showing her his palm and making a small motion for her to stay put.

Celia calmed instantly, Dean's small action relaxed the tension in her spine and she straightened her stance.

All the threat that had been there faded, even the black streaks in her eyes were gone. Celia rested her hands on her hips and settled her weight back on her right leg and foot. Dean made the same motion with his hand before he twisted to look at Eric. The elder Winchester's green eyes searched Eric from his place standing somewhat between the redhead and Quantum Ranger.

"Is there something you're not telling us?" Dean asked, calmly.

Eric looked startled, his face paling ever-so-slightly. "What?"

"Because yer the most paranoid, untrustin', hypervigilant son of a bitch I've ever seen that _ain't_ in the trade," Celia said, coolly. "Ya a player and ya just not tellin' us?"

"No," Eric said, flatly.

"It's not like we're going to lose it if you are and you didn't tell us," Sam said.

"I'm not a Hunter."

Dean, Sam and Celia watched him for a few seconds and Eric stood his ground. The other five Rangers had the distinct feeling that there was a silent communication going on between the four of them.

"There are ways of restrainin' a demon... and if ya do it right, which our dads did--" Celia glared at Eric warningly, as if daring him to contradict her "-- then the thing goes comatose."

Eric eyes never left her face, as if he was trying to read a lie on the surface.

"Show him, Red."

His elder brother and the redhead jerked around at the sound of Sam's voice, the intelligent blue eyes flicked to red then green then back again. "You've spilled this far and like we just said... he acts and thinks like a Hunter." Sam's eyes flashed to Eric, his point proven by the fact that the Quantum Ranger had still not taken his eyes of Celia, clearly the biggest threat in the room to him. "Damnit if he doesn't act a little like Dad."

"It's none of his goddamn business!" Celia barked. She was twitching again.

"Give trust to get it, Red," Sam's voice stayed calm and cool. "We can't get anything done at each others

throats."

"Sam--"

"Reverse the position, Red. If he was telling you that he was possessed and he had it under control, you'd want proof," Sam continued quietly.

Celia looked at him like he was a venomous snake, her heated red eyes trying to crack his quiet blue; she snorted through her nose, and spun in place, letting her back face the room. She shrugged off and tossed aside her flannel shirt, then reached over her shoulders and pulled the back of her black T-shirt up and over her head, keeping her arms through the sleeves and the fabric across her chest and exposing her bare back to the Rangers.

"Whoa... " Lucas choked.

The skin of Celia's back was discolored with scars, streaks of paler and darker color than her tawny skin tone. But the majority of her torso was covered by a black inking in her flesh. A tribal design of larger and smaller circles, sharp angels of polygons and a large seven pointed star over and under lapping itself.

Written words of Latin and Native American symbols woven in the design, it stretched from the base of her neck to the lower back and spanned completely across, even wrapping around her ribs a little. The entire thing was centered around the tribal shape of a horse.

"Is that a... tattoo?" Wes asked, shifting in place to get a closer look.

"It's a scar," Eric corrected him. A practiced eye had easily read the difference between the smooth surface of a chosen tattoo from the deep, sliced in way that the black lines were inked in Celia's back. Someone had carved the design into her flesh, dyed it with ink and it had healed over, permanent in her skin.

"It's called a devil's trap... or a Key of Solomon. A demon can't step foot out of it," Sam explained quietly.

"This one has some variations from the original design but that's because it has a different purpose."

"Satisfied?" Celia snapped and pulled her shirt back into place and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, twisting to glare at Eric specifically. He'd expected anger and hate to be in her gaze, but the sheer amount of shame and embarrassment set in the blood colored eyes threw him and the other Rangers.

"Um... Red--" Wes started and jumped when Celia cut him off.

"I'm goin' to the morgue," she deadpanned, her voice suddenly emotionless. She snatched her flannel and slung her suede and fleece barn coat over her shoulders. Jen and Eric tensed instinctively when she grabbed her .50 caliber AE Desert Eagle handgun off the bed stand, cocked it and slid it out of sight in the back of her jeans. Celia grabbed her Stetson hat, shoved it down around her ears and stalked towards the door.

Buckshot and Valentine lurched up from their places and galloped after her, skidding to a stop as the door slammed in their faces. The Rangers flinched as one, silence rang in the room until the sound of the Silverado work truck revved to life and pulled away. Both dogs stepped back and whine loudly. Buckshot lifted a paw and scratched at the door. Valentine retreated back to the bed and slumped on the covers.

"Way to go, Sam," Dean sighed, looking at his brother. The younger Winchester looked anything but proud but didn't let emotion surface on his face.

"She'll be all right after she gets the blood and a Starbucks." Sam sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"If that's all she ends up doing," Dean muttered, and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if trying to stem off a migraine.

"What else could she do?" Katie asked, quietly.

"Put someone in the ICU," Dean sighed.

"She'd just attack someone?" Jen snapped.

"No," Sam assured. "She'd probably pick a fight in a bar or something, she never throws the first punch on a human. But we're in the middle of a job, she won't risk getting arrested."

"She'll probably just go with the coffee." Dean grumbled and stalked outside, irritation clear in every part of him, from his deep voice to the way his legs moved as he walked. Sam watched him go, obviously distraught about having to embarrass his friend and upset his brother, but still firm in his stance; sighing quietly, he looked back at Eric.

"So," he said, "What _is _your story anyway?"

Eric had retreated to the bed, a hand unconsciously petting Valentine's head. He looked around at the Rangers, then snorted softly and met Sam's gaze again. "I'm not into sob stories," he said, firmly.

"You're military, right?" Sam said, "…Marines?"

"What's it to you?"

"You act like one of us," Sam replied, "The only people outside of the Hunting world that act the way... are military. Even then, it's rare." His forehead crinkled in thought for a moment. "You did a tour overseas? Iraq?"

"If you're looking for some kind of tragic story to explain me away," Eric said, "You're not gonna find it." He folded his arms.

"Many have tried... many have failed," Wes said with a smirk, though sincere.

"All right, all right." Sam raised his hands. "I'll stop prying."

"Don't mind the Spartan over there," Katie told him, "He's like that with everyone... Wes has been trying to figure him out ever since he showed up." She glared at Eric, who stared back at her without blinking. "With no luck, obviously."

"I'm not big on heart-to-hearts," Eric said, dryly.

"I can see that... " Sam glanced at Jen, then around the room, at each Ranger individually. "I'm curious about all of you, too. It's not everyday I meet someone from the future."

"I'm afraid we can't give you any information about the future," Jen said, diplomatically.

"It's kind of in the 'rules'," Trip supplied.

"I figured," Sam said, "But still... even your _jobs _interest me. I mean, Trip, you can't be more than sixteen!"

Trip blushed awkwardly, dipping his head. "Well... most cadets are older than me," he admitted, "Alex recommended me for the Academy--" he looked at Jen nervously "--he thought I had potential, so he convinced them to take me early."

"Alex?" the question Sam felt was clear in his voice.

"My fiance," Jen said, quickly, fingering the diamond ring on her finger. "He... _was _my fiance."

"And the Red Ranger," Trip added, "He was the only Ranger for two years, and he was responsible for capturing Ransik... but he... " His face grew redder and redder, and his eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape; Sam sensed what was wrong, and immediately felt a pang of sympathy for Jen even as she seemed to withdraw into herself and block out the conversation.

"He's gone," Lucas said, quietly, "Ransik... killed him. Right before we came here a couple months ago."

Memories of Sam's own girlfriend, Jessica, flashed before his eyes... they had fallen deeply in love during his years at Stanford, and had started shopping for a ring the week before she was killed. By the same demon that murdered Sam's mother. She was pinned to the ceiling of their apartment, gutted open, helpless to even call out for help; flames exploded around her and she burned to death as Dean pulled Sam away, screaming.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice nearly breaking.

"Forget about it," Jen replied, again too quickly. "It's done."

Sam nodded, understanding. "I should go check on Dean... you guys should dust those ashes on your clothes now, don't wanna give the pack a chance to catch your scent. I'll be back in a minute."

. . .

Dean stood outside, gazing up at the cloudy sky wistfully from behind his green eyes and running his hand down the sleek black hood of his Impala; the classic car was a gift to him on his 18th birthday, from his father. A rare show of affection. The boys never celebrated their birthdays growing up, most of the time John Winchester was too busy on a hunt to realize one of his sons was a year older; Sam resented that in him when he was younger, but Dean could rarely bring himself to find any faults within his father. He loved the man, damn near worshipped him, right up until the day he died... saving Dean's life.

The Winchesters had come face-to-face with the yellow-eyed demon that had killed their mother so long ago, but the confrontation ended in a disastrous crash, an 18-wheeler T-boning the Impala with an already badly injured Dean in the backseat. He barely hung onto life at the hospital, and John knew there was no way his son could survive, so he did the only thing he could... he summoned the demon, and made a deal: He would trade in the only weapon they had to kill the demon, a Colt handgun over 100 years old, and his own soul, in return for Dean's life. Within minutes, Dean had made a full recovery, and their dad was gone forever.

Dean shuddered. For a year he had struggled with the agonizing guilt, his own father was suffering in Hell for him, and he couldn't understand why... that was, until Sam was taken from him, stabbed in the back by a man he trusted. Dean held his younger brother in his arms as his life slipped away, and the grief that came over him was too much to bear, he broke down, pushed away the only person left to offer any comfort, Bobby. Then made his own deal. The seductive Crossroads Demon shot down his offer-- ten more years of life, then his soul; they bargained until he finally shattered and agreed to the devastating the deal. One year.

_Three months._

"Dean?"

Sam's hesitant voice floated into Dean's ear and he rolled his eyes before turning around to face the younger-- but much taller --brother. "What?"

"You really think it's a good idea to be out here alone?" Sam raised his dark eyebrows skeptically.

"I can handle myself, Sam."

"Don't be so self-sacrificing, Dean," Sam said, wearily. "I thought we were past that." He came over to stand by Dean, leaning on the Impala.

_"You _stop treating me like I'm friggin' four!"Dean growled irritably, "I'm not being 'self-sacrificing', I just needed some air from the Rainbow Clan in there." He nodded to the door of the motel room, the voices coming from inside vaguely registering in his ears.

"They're not as bad as you think," Sam said, "Sounds like they've been through a lot."

"They're just kids, Sam."

A bitter laugh. "Dean... you act like we're pushing forty. It wasn't so very long ago we were kids, too."

"Yeah, but we were raised for this life," Dean said, "Never knew anything different. These guys--"

"Are trained to fight genetically enhanced mutants," Sam said, chuckling a little, "With _super-powers_. They aren't as helpless as they seem at first glance. And Eric? The dude did _two _tours in Iraq." He shook his head. "I mean, who knows what he had to deal with over there? And Jen... she's got some issues of her own."

Dean seemed to contemplate Sam's words, but the younger Winchester knew his brother too well, once Dean judged a person, it would take a lot more than few well-meaning words to change his mind. He saw the Rangers as victims, people he needed to protect, not people he could count on in battle. And, to be fair, the only battle he'd witnessed involving the Rangers had ended up with them laying on the ground, bleeding and in _serious _need of some rescuing.

"I've been thinking, Dean," he finally said, "The Rangers have the ability to go back in time--" he ignored Dean's warning glare "--we could use that, don't you think? Maybe go back and change the way things happened."

"Don't be stupid, Sam."

"Would you think about it, at least?"

"No!" Dean's voice was strong, it reminded Sam of their father when he was about to lose his temper. "You'll die, Sam."

"Not if we can go back to right before I died," Sam tried again, "You could save me. If I never died, you never would've had to make the deal, and--"

"Would you _think _about what you're saying for a second?" Dean snapped.

"As if it's any stranger than the shit we deal with everyday," Sam said.

"It _is!" _Dean insisted, "You have _no _idea what else could change if we did something like that... c'mon, you're the college boy, you should be thinking about all the consequences and crap, not me." Sam started to protest, but Dean cut him off: "No, it's out of the question. I saw that Butterly Effect movie, he kept changing history and kept fucking things up even worse."

Sam blinked. "You're basing your decision on an Ashton Kutcher movie?"

Dean shrugged. "Seemed realistic enough."

"Wow... " Sam nearly cracked a smile. "I don't believe you. How are we even related?"

"I wonder that everyday," Dean said, "How someone as drop-dead gorgeous as me could end up with such a goofy-looking brother."

"Whatever, dude... " a gray cast seemed to fall over Sam's face. "I just... have to find a way, Dean."

"You can't, Sam."

Dean walked away from Sam and the Impala, the ominous clouds above hiding the flicker in his eyes and the sudden rain disguising the tension in his jaw; Sam let out a deep, frustrated sigh, clenching and unclenching his fists. Dean disappeared behind the door of the room, and a moment later Sam caught his silhouette in the curtain-covered window. He knew his brother was scared... hell, terrified of what he was about to face, who wouldn't be? But he'd never admit it. He'd carry that hidden fear to his grave, and then be forced to suffer alone for an eternity, all for his little brother. _How can I live with that? _Sam wondered to himself, feeling a familiar lump form in his throat and threaten to become tears in his eyes.

It wasn't the time to dwell on their troubles though, and he quietly brushed aside his feelings while standing in the rain; glancing upward as lightning struck somewhere miles away and briefly lit up the darkening sky, he steadied himself and went back inside.

. . .

_**Happy Teeth Toothpaste Offices**_

_**3:00 PM**_

Dominique slowly spun the knife, the tip of the blade carving into the wood of the table top. The dominant twin couldn't help the smile flickering on his face time and again. His pack seemed just as relaxed, grinning and-- with the exception of their leader --sitting casually around watching a televised, surgery show. Every once in awhile they would chuckle as the doctors sawed into their patients.

Frax and one of the mutant henchmen that seemed to cling to Ransik's side, Gluto, were watching the vampires' behavior with interest and anxiety.

"Brother! Code!" Dante called excitedly to Dominique as the screen was filled with shouting and rapid movement as doctors rushed to action.

Dominique waved him off. "I'll wait for the mess later to get my fill."

The rest of the pack grinned and laughed quietly. Gluto and Frax looked between each other.

"You mean after Ransik cleans up your mistakes?" Gluto grumbled.

Dominique's smile stretched across his face and he laughed low in his throat. "I mean cleaning up Ransik."

"What?" Frax chattered, his surprise evident even on his expressionless face.

"We're just going to sit back and let Ransik learn a few things on his own. He's obviously never dealt with a demon before--" Dominique grinned.

"_Or_ a Winchester before," Dante put in, grinning madly at the screen. "I wonder if the blood line survives another thousand years? Hunters don't really pass on the genes but that family's full of surprises... "

"Ransik can take care of a couple of humans!" Gluto growled.

"Not two _humans_. Two Hunters and a demon... so three Hunters," Dante snickered.

"Five if you want to count those Hell Hounds they call dogs... " Dixon muttered, his hand roving to his still healing throat.

"He laughs at guns and knives... there are different kinds of bullets and blades..." Dominique grinned wider.

"We all know that Winchesters know that... "

. . .

_**89**__**th**__** and Fairway Boulevard **_

_**5:12 PM**_

Celia had managed to calm herself down without sending anyone to the ER. As Dean had predicted, she went to the morgue first to steal a good amount of dead man's blood; the back door had been easy enough to pick and a large plastic container filled to the brim with dead man's blood in a cooler in a autopsy room made her job easier. It was a solid half gallon, she hoped it would be enough. Most of the bodies going in and out of the medical examiner's office didn't have much plasma to give up.

The main security was completely oblivious to her as he watched Judge Judy in his office; then she went to a local diner and downed two cups of steaming hot coffee, the scalding liquid easing the tension she felt in every muscle and bone in her body. Her face was slightly flushed, still bitten with shame. Her whole frame felt heavier and she was nauseated with a bitter feeling of betrayal. She knew Sam hadn't turned on her but it felt that way, badgering her into baring her back to a bunch of strange kids…baring her soul…her damaged soul…Even when Dean and Sam discovered the disfigurement on her back, she hadn't been as ashamed as showing it to people she didn't even know.

The boys would tell her it was nothing to ashamed of, naturally... in fact, they'd say, she should be proud that she had the mental-- and physical --strength to keep that son of a bitch demon at bay for over two decades! Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel the pang of shame whenever she was reminded of the demon that had been raping her body ever since she was a little girl, threatening to break free and hurt the people she allowed herself to love.

Grumbling, she looked up as the waitress came over with a pot of coffee in her hand. "One to go please. How much do I owe ya?" she asked.

"Dollar fifty, hun." The motherly woman smiled sadly at her and turned to grab a cup and top from the shelves behind her and turned with it filled.

Celia accepted the cup, put a five dollar bill on the table, uttering a "keep the change" before scooting off the stool and making her way outside, relieved to find out the downpour had stopped. "What's with this city and rain anyway?" she mumbled, positioning the Stetson onto her bandanna-covered head and beginning the walk to her Silverado parked across the street. Her hand warm around the cup.

"You must be the woman they speak of."

Something about the deep voice resonated deep inside of her, and Celia instantly went on the defensive, knowing somehow that the voice came from someone that was a real threat. Her hackles rose on end, she kept her cool and her suspicions her confirmed when she calmly twisted around to see a man-- or something _like _a man --stalking toward her; funny, she hadn't even noticed that the streets were clear of people. No doubt hiding inside. _Smart. _The dude looked like he'd ended up on the wrong side of a meat grinder, his face was distorted and blistered, one half covered by a metal mask and one eye nearly popped completely out of it's socket. He was huge, too, muscular arms and legs and a powerful-looking chest; there were scars all down his bare arms that poked at her curiousity, but what _really _caught her attention was the impressive sword he held in one hand.

"Wow," Celia said calmly and sipped her coffee, facing him head-on but she had to tilt her head back to look at him, he towered over Celia's five foot four height, even taller than Sam. "In the immortal words of Dean Winchester 'Dude... you fugly'. Let me guess... Ransik, right?"

"Those little vampires seem to think rather highly of you," Ransik said, stopping only a foot or so from her. He reached out and touched her cheek with a rough hand. "I do wonder why... you certainly don't _look _like much."

Celia grasped his wrist with her free hand and twisted it, not even attempting to use only her human strength and shoved him back; Ransik freed himself from her grip though, and only twisted his face even further with a smile.

"This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, isn't it?"

"I ain't got a fight with ya, pal," Celia said. "But if ya touch me again... we're gonna exchange more than just pleasantries."

Ransik leaned in closer, inches from her face, and whispered into her ear: "Is that a promise?" Then he laughed soundly and backed away. "Because I think you and I could have a... delightful time of it."

"Oh, I'm sure we could."

"Shall we?"

Fast as the blink of an eye, Ransik struck out and punched her squarely in the nose; her head snapped back painfully and the coffee cup crashed to the earth, Celia jerked back a step and titled her head back with a snarl of pain. Her teeth bared she dropped her head forward and shook it to clear her vision.

"If people don't stop hittin' me in the fuckin' face!" She snapped before doubling over when Ransik slammed a fist deep into her stomach, but her feet remained in place and she recovered enough to land her own blow to Ransik's exposed eye.

He snarled in pain and retaliated by swinging a backhand around and smacking Celia in her already-aching temple, this time spinning her entire body and nearly causing her to fall over; she kicked, her boot hitting him in the stomach but not causing much harm, whether it was due to his enormous size and muscle, or the thick leather he wore there, she didn't know. Either way, he only bent over slightly and let out a grunt, then grabbed her arm and pushed her up into the air and away from him; she landed a good five feet away, falling hard onto the paved road. The .50 Desert Eagle clattered to the street and skidded out of Celia's reach. The demon inside her bristled angrily, his and her pride hurt. Her teeth bared and she growled.

"Friend... ya really don't wanna do this," she gasped, shaking from the exertion of fighting back the demon as he struggled to come to the surface, Ransik had one opponent, she had two at the moment. She pushed up to her feet.

Ransik swung the sword at her. She had just enough time to wonder what the Hell he was planning to do with that thing so far away, before a beam of light shot out from the glistening tip and hit her right in the chest, sending her flying backward and knocking any air she had left out. She landed on her back and her head smacked against the hard ground, her sensitive horns feeling it the most; she even let out a small whimper of pain, far too low for him to hear. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and a quick glance downward told her she was damn near right... the flannel shirt was blackened and the skin beneath red with blood and exposed layers of skin that shouldn't be anywhere _near _the surface. The grunt that ripped out of her chest was far from human and she would have liked nothing more than to lie there on her back, but instinct and training wouldn't let her. It was pounded into her to get to her feet, no matter what. So she tucked her arms and twisted her body, rolling over and scrambled back, up onto her hands and knees. She threw her weight back and surged all the strength she had into her limbs and made it halfway up before her elbows buckled and she crashed back down to her knees, only keeping her torso off the pavement by bracing her forearms into the ground. She stayed still, knowing better than most humans who would struggle futily to get back to their feet. She knew if she waited a few long seconds, maybe a minute. She would be back up and fighting on her feet. But she needed that minute to recover.

Her gut heaved and she broke into a violent fit of coughing. She gagged and spat a mix of saliva, stomach acid and blood onto the pavement, the latter dangling in a thin rope from her lips.

"Ow…" Celia rasped. "Fuck."

"I think I do... " Ransik said, smiling slowly.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

…

_**89**__**th**__** and Fairway**_

_**5:16 PM**_

Ransik stormed over to Celia as she lay on the ground trying to recover and planted his thick boot into the pit of her stomach, kicking so hard she came off the ground for a second; she was forced onto her back, and stared up at the sky breathlessly, vaguely hearing Ransik's laughter. Her ribs throbbed mercilessly, at least two were broken, and blood had run a line down from her forehead, into her eyes, and across her face. She had to give the Rangers credit... Ransik was one hell of a son of a bitch.

"I was expecting more from you," Ransik said, "They say you are a demon... one would think a demon would put up more of a fight!"

_Believe me, buddy... he's trying. _Celia gritted her teeth, struggling against all odds to restrain the demon rising up within her, his pride wounded due to the severe beat down they were both getting. Ransik saw the look on her face, but the meaning escaped him and he dismissed it, reaching down to grasp the collar of her shirt and pull her onto her unsteady legs. Her breath wheezed in and out raggedly, but she stared at him without fear in her eyes, managing to gasp out: "Think you're a tough guy for this?"

"This isn't about being tough," Ransik said, his voice surprisingly soft.

His fist swung forward and connected with Celia's cheek, knocking a back tooth loose and causing her to bite down and cut the inside of her cheek; blood flooded into her mouth. She snorted, then spit into Ransik's face; then smashed a fist into his throat and free herself from his grip as he struggled to catch his breath. He dropped her, and she nearly crumbled to the ground again, but somehow managed to stay on her feet. Everything hurt. Every muscle in her body quivered from the pain and exertion. Worst of all, she felt the demon within gaining strength and she lost her own.

"As much fun as I'm havin' here," she said, hoarsely and started to stalk backwards towards the parked Silverado "Why don't we call it a day? I mean... what've ya got against me anyway?"

"Are you begging for mercy?" Ransik grinned.

"Hell no." Celia's pride bristled. "I'm just sayin'... this whole thing ain't gonna get us anywhere. Shouldn't ya be off plottin' a way to get rid of those Rangers? Doing somethin'... useful?"

"But this is so much fun... " Ransik snickered, following her stiff retreat "I think you're just scared. You can see that your end is near."

Celia swallowed, wincing in pain and shaking her head slowly. "I may be afraid of some things... but one of them sure as Hell ain't you." _It's me. _"Now... I'm warnin' ya, end this now, or there's gonna be some major hurtin' in your future."

Ransik threw his head back and laughed. _"You _are threatening _me?" _he said, incredulously. "Are you delusional?"

"Maybe a little, feels like I got a concussion…" Celia miss stepped and her knees nearly buckled but she stayed up and kept retreating. The guy had a hundred pounds on her and she was struggling on two ends. She needed to fight smart, not hard.

And the Sixes were in her tool box.

Huffing with anger, Ransik thrust his open hand at Celia, producing an impressive looking beam that shot out toward her again; this time, she managed to dodge it enough so it didn't hit her straight on, but it still clipped her shoulder and she slammed back to the ground. She felt it dislocate from its socket and hissed against the sharp pain that followed, groaning aloud when she chanced a glance downward and saw the blood seeping from the gaping wound. _Dude's got some firepower, that's for sure..._she waited half a second, catching a breath then with a snarl rotated her arm and shoulder, popping the joint back into place and repressed a bark of pain as it pinched a nerve on the way. Celia flexed her hand, feeling the muscles get back to work.

"Still think you can threaten me?" Ransik snapped, walking forward slowly.

"It's not... a threat," Celia sighed, her chest was heaving with every breath. "I don't wanna... do this."

"You mean you don't want to _die." _A hand swung downward and slugged her in the jaw, popping out that tooth and sending even more blood into her mouth; she gagged on the bitter liquid, spitting onto the asphalt. She flicked a look up at Ransik out the corner of her eye, every breath being forced from her lungs and sounding like sandpaper on wood, raspy and harsh; the mutant leader was silhouetted up against the setting sun, but she could still see his face and the smile that was forming.

That is, until her entire world went black when his fist smashed into her face again...

. . .

_**The Silver Ring Inn, Room 34**_

_**5: 16 PM**_

Sam sprawled across his bed, trying to get the sleep he needed and knew he wasn't going to get later. He burrowed himself as deep into the comforter as he could from on top of all the covers; his side was hot, sweating, because of Buckshot curled tightly up against his ribcage.

For the better part of the last hour and a half, with practically no entertainment, the Rangers-- specifically Trip and Katie --had been trying to badger Dean into letting them go back across the street to the Clock Tower. The elder Winchester continued to refuse, too used to the sounds and attitudes of teenagers-- having dealt with Sam all through his most rebellious years --to give any kind of slack. Dean had finally dissolved the argument altogether by making a sharp remark that if the pack was so bold to kill in the daylight, to lure and attack the Rangers literally at high noon, when they were weakest, then how safe would they be at night?

The room had finally started to quiet down as the stresses and exhaustion of shock and revelation set into everyone, and Sam was trying to take advantage. He jumped out of his skin at the sound of a chair hitting the floor and splitting apart over a small siren sounding in the room from the mechanical owl, Circuit.

"What the hell!?" Dean snarled, he looked ready to butcher the machine for making him jump.

"Everybody! Ransik's in the city!" Circuit chattered in a high pitched, mechanical voice.

"Lets go!" Jen barked at her team. They lurched to their feet and rushed for the door. Eric pushed himself up off the other bed and started to follow.

"Whoa! Hold it!" Dean ordered, freezing everyone in the room. "You guys aren't seriously gonna just run off into public? We're trying to keep you alive, and frolicking off in your space suits is kind of an attention getter."

"This is what we're here for," Jen stated. "We can't just let him destroy the city!"

"What about your crew?" Dean motioned toward Eric. "They can handle it right?"

Pride slammed into Eric mercilessly. "Trained and experienced for it. They're probably already there."

"See? Let the Wakenhut handle it for once," Dean sighed.

"We're not going to abandon our mission." Jen looked ready to lunge at Dean and savage him. "Besides... Eric's pride be damned, his Guardians can't handle one of Ransik's mutants."

"Guys, I know this is hard... but if you really want to bring Ransik in, you have to stay alive to do it," Sam pleaded gently.

"We don't have time for this!" Jen launched at the door again, Dean reached out and snagged her arm.

Jen's eyes flashed dangerously, and Dean felt her body tense up. Her voice was tight. "Let me go."

"Rangers, hurry! Ransik's already in combat!" Circuit chattered.

That froze everyone in the room.

"The Guardians?" Eric questioned.

"No! With Celia!" The owl flapped his stiff wings.

"_Now_ we go," Dean said, instantly.

Jen ripped herself from his grip with an annoyed growl and charged out of the door, Dean right behind her, closely followed by Sam and the Rangers. The door slammed shut in Buckshot and Valentine's faces, leaving them trapped in the room, baying to be let into the fight.

. . .

_**Ransik's Hideout-- The Prison Ship**_

_**5:20 PM**_

Nadira pushed her way past the vampires that had crowded the viewing screen, ignoring their angry snarls in favor of focusing her eyes on the image projected to her-- she smirked with satisfaction, her father was closing in on the woman, who appeared helpless against his attacks. She was as good as dead.

The vampires were confused, muttering amongst themselves even as the fight continued to play out; it was all very one-sided, Ransik was beating down the red head like she was any other human, she showed no signs of being possessed by an ancient demon. Dominique scowled, running a hand down his face and spinning away from the screen, clearly frustrated.

"It doesn't make any sense," Dante spoke, "She could demolish him with a flick of her hand!"

"Apparently not," Frax said, chuckling quietly.

"She's holding back…" Dominique growled, a nauseating wave of uncertainty bubbling in his chest. "Tell me why a demon would hold back…demons don't just roll over…she's letting him kill her."

Nadira quipped, "Aren't you supposed to be on my _father's _side? This should make you happy!" She placed her hands on her hips and stuck up her chin, her eyes narrowing in on Dominique. "If you _think _you can betray _us_... you're in for one _rude _awakening."

Dominique scoffed. "Do you have any idea what I've done to girls like you?"

"You think I'm like those _other _girls?"

"I don't see much of a difference."

"You didn't think my _daddy _stood a chance against your _demon_, either." Nadira shot a look at the screen, a smug smile appearing on her face again when she saw Ransik deliver another blow to Celia; she slumped to the ground, oblivious to the world. "... Shows how much _you _know." Before the vampire leader could respond, she snapped to Frax: "Frax! I need a mutant!"

"What for, Nadira?" Frax questioned.

"Those pesky Rangers are _bound _to show up any minute now," Nadira explained, rolling her eyes impatiently. "I don't want them getting in Daddy's way... make sure you pick out a mutant that we can depend on!" With a flourish of her hand and an excited squeak, she bounced out of the room.

. . .

_**89**__**th**__** and Fairway**_

_**5:23 PM**_

Celia gasped, consciousness floating back to her after only seconds of blissful unawareness. The pain rushed back into her system, but she forced herself onto her hands and knees, determining to get up again and take another beating... she wondered if Sam and Dean had any idea she was in trouble. "Could use a Winchester right now…" She muttered to herself.

"Why don't you just stay _down?" _Ransik's voice snarled over her and she was rewarded for her effort with another massive boot kicked deep into her gut.

Celia bit back a bark of pain, her teeth bared and shivering violently. "Nice... " she spat, "... kick a girl when she's down... "

"You don't get anywhere in life by showing mercy." Ransik raised one eyebrow. "I learned that long ago... I haven't shown mercy since then, and I won't give you any. Did you really think you could defeat me? I am more than human and better than _any _of the species." He twisted the sword in his hands, into angle fitting for an execution. "And now, in your death, I am more than demon. It's a pity, you could have been useful."

Ransik swung the blade down... and met resistance.

He blinked, staring down at blood red eyes, Celia's hands firmly locked on his wrists, arms locked and crouching to keep his arms well above her head. Immediately, he sensed something different in his opponent. Was she even the same woman?

"I'm done with ya," she snapped, her voice deeper, more of an animal growl than a human sound. A spark of uncertainty hit Ransik's eyes and he jerked back to break contact and regain his swing, Celia's grip tightened, and she used his retreat movement to haul herself to her feet. She twisted Ransik's hands with strength she hadn't possessed moments ago, breaking his grip and sending the blade clattering to the ground.

"Time for an anatomy class. The hand bone's connected to the wrist bone--" Celia kept his right arm trapped and wrenched his left hand around and the bones of his wrist snapped with a chorus of small

crackles and pops. Ransik gasped out, more from the shock of her actions than from the pain of his broken wrist.

"Wrist bone's connected to the arm bone--" She kept twisting, there was an ugly pop and a wet snap, forcing a bark of pain out of Ransik's mouth as the joint in his elbow dislocated, the tendons and sinews snapping and his muscles ripping away under his skin. He tried to pull away, but Celia planted herself firmly into the ground, a menacing smile dancing across her face as she continued.

"Arm bone's connected to the shoulder bone--" Celia jerked his arm sharply forward and down, there was a loud sucking pop and another series of snaps as she returned the favor of a dislocated shoulder. This time, Ransik felt more anger than pain, and he readied himself for one last attack.

"And the shoulder bone's connected to the collar bone--" Celia hiked up a boot, slammed it into his chest and shoved backwards, keeping a tight grip on his arm, the collar bone crackling loudly; she felt a pang of disappointment when she didn't feel his arm completely dislocate and hear him scream in agony. _Must be that genetic enhancement shit. _Shrugging it off, she released him, sending the mutant onto the pavement. Celia gave herself a short shake and snorted out of her nose. She kicked the sword back, it slid past her Desert Eagle and under the belly of the Silverado, well out of reach.

"Care to guess what the collar bones connected to?" Celia sniffed, almost comically. Ransik ground his teeth together to conceal the agonizing pain he felt shooting up his arm, he watched as Celia rolled her shoulders back and reached toward her calf, drawing her bone hilt buck knife away from the sheath.

"When I'm finished--" she growled, stalking toward the slowly rising mutant, "--yer goin' to look like a field dressed deer." She stalked forward a step just as Ransik got onto one knee, then slammed her boot into his throat, knocking him onto his back and pinning him with her weight as she knelt on top of him. "Only difference is... ya ain't goin' to have a head to mount."

Ransik wrenched his body around and slammed one of his knees deep into the back of Celia's calf, she staggered, jerking away and giving Ransik the chance to regain his feet and put room between them. He took the chance. Celia's unnaturally red-colored eyes locked on him, a predatory gaze, like a wolf looking at a wounded rabbit... for a split second they flooded black then faded into red again. A small, twisted smile played on her lips. A quiet chuckle escaped her throat. She pushed herself up and walked almost casually toward her offender.

"Like me better this way?" she taunted, coolly.

Ransik grumbled as he straightened up to his full height, once again towering over the petite Celia. "It's going to take more... than demonic strength to defeat me," he replied.

"Trust me, son. There's plenty more." Ransik backed away ever-so-slightly as she continued her approach. She laughed aloud. "What's the matter, huh? Ya were beatin' the shit out of me a minute ago. What's wrong? Spooked? All the sudden the little girl's got some moves and now ya don't want to play anymore."

"If you think... that you are the toughest opponent I've fought," Ransik spoke very carefully, disguising any emotions he felt that would give her an advantage, "Then you have severely over-estimated yourself."

"Oh, my apologies. Let me make my place clear." Celia snorted, twisting the buck knife, light catching the engraved designs running along the blade.

Without another word, he threw himself at Celia, his fist burying itself in her gut and doubling her over for a second; he brought his knee up and smashed it into her ribs, laughing viciously when he heard a few more snap under the pressure. She snarled angrily, one arm snapped back, then flew forward, her punch smacking him in the face; surprisingly, this time it took more of a toll on him than her previous attempts. He spun around, his back briefly facing her. Celia slammed and elbow into the back of his neck, in the same move burying the blade into his side, twisting and lodging the blade between his ribs. Ransik barked in pain, it felt like electricity was crackling and burning the new wound. He jerked away, his back to her a second time. She slammed her heel in the small of his back and kicked, he stumbled forward, but stayed on his feet and whirled around to meet her again; the laser that shot out from the palm of his enormous hand nearly caught Celia off-guard, and while she jumped out of the way, it still sliced her thigh as it went by. She hissed, glaring at him, her face twisted, teeth bared and showing the wolf like canines. The sound was foreign to Ransik, a rattling hiss that belonged in the belly of a bull alligator.

"Who are you?" Ransik demanded.

Black flooded Celia's eyes for a moment. "You wouldn't know if I told you." The black disappeared. "But I know what you are, Ransik... ya _think _yer a big bad man, yer _nothin'."_ Celia stalked closer. "An' afterthought in the cosmos. The gods spat and there was Ransik, yer so useless a bunch of teenagers, babes in the woods, have ya hidin' in corners and behind dumpsters. Now come here, I want my knife back." She motioned towards the blade wedged in his ribcage. Every time he moved or breathed it felt like a spark of lightening crossed the wound.

Rage flooded into Ransik, he moved to pull the blade free but fire shocked across his side when his fingers touched it. His eyes flashed back to the red head, he bared his own teeth back at her. That same small, wolfish smile played on Celia's lips.

"Hurt yer feelings?" she said, mocking a concerned tone.

"The day I am insulted by a _demon," _Ransik said, "Is the day Hell freezes over... what is it _you _take so much pride in? You are _scum! _Lucifer's whores and God's bastards." He smirked. "So low to the ground that you have to possession of a _human _body just to be _seen_. And--" he laughed then, and a deep sound rumbled within Celia's chest "--you're so pathetic, you let a tiny _woman _control you! Big, bad, dangerous demon... made a bitch to a human girl."

Ransik's blood chilled then heated in rage when Celia's face split into a grin and let out a low, snorted laugh. A look that could only be described as demonic locked in her molten eyes. "Shakespeare, brother, Shakespeare, 'She is little, but she is fierce'."

Celia lunged at him, Ransik bent his knees slightly, fully prepared for her assault... he nearly jumped when Celia was suddenly tackled clean out of the air by a blur of brown color. She made a pained sound as she was slammed into the nearest wall, then shoved back again and pinned into the brick, a forearm pressed against her throat, another hand trapping her wrists together against her stomach. Two hundred pounds pressed against her frame and crushed her against the wall.

"_Christo,_" the deep voice-- coming from the young man who held her still --growled.

Celia flinched, writhing under his weight and actually cringing back as if trying to get away from him. Black eyes cracked open and she bared her teeth, snarling in the assailant's face, the eyes flickered and drained to red in an instant.

"Dean," Celia rasped, her voice breaking and eyes becoming wet.

Dean felt her slump against him. He breathed a sigh of relief, sending Sam a look from over his shoulder; the younger brother left his hand fall, within it he clasped a clear bottle of water. Holy water. Dean turned his attention back to Celia, never seeing the gigantic mutant that set his eyes on Sam and pulled a glistening sword out from his back, clearly intending to use it on the youngest Winchester.

"Sam, look out!" Jen shouted, bringing her blaster up from her hip and squeezing the trigger before Ransik had time to attack. The beam hit him, but at an angle, not causing much damage at all, angering him more than anything; he swore at her, now directing all his attention at the unmorphed Pink Ranger.

"Ready, guys?" Jen called out, taking a step back as the rest of her team stepped up beside her. They nodded. As one, the team-- excluding Eric --called out: "Time for Time Force!" and morphed into their suits; Eric watched them, then shouted into his morpher: "Quantum Power!" and joined his fellow Rangers, ready to fight.

"You okay?" Dean asked Celia, his eyes wide with worry, his hands running up-and-down her body, searching for injuries. He was wary though, and kept glancing at her eyes.

"I'll be fine," Celia muttered, casting her eyes in the direction of the Rangers as they took on Ransik. "They're gonna need some help."

"Not from you," Dean insisted, "Get out of here... take a second to catch your breath. Get yourself under control."

"Dean--"

_"Now."_

Leaving no room for argument, Dean gently shoved her even further away from the fight, then turned around and raced to stand beside the others; Jen was charging Ransik, her Chrono Saber extended, each step she took full of determination and without hesitation. She slashed Ransik across the chest with the saber, but he barely seemed to feel it, and responded with a massive blow to the side of her helmet, temporarily disorienting her. Wes took her place as she fell back; he bent low to the ground and swung one leg out in a circular motion, upsetting Ransik's balance as his feet came out from under him. Wes tried to take advantage of the situation by jumping back up and calling on his own saber, then bringing it down on Ransik. But Ransik had recovered too quickly; he braced himself back on his hands-- outstretched above his head --and kicked Wes away with his feet before righting himself.

"Ransik!"

The gravelly voice belonged to the dark gray figure that was running down the street -- he was at least nine feet tall, armored from head-to-toe, and unmistakably _not _human. In one large hand he gripped a chain gun of sorts, eight thin barrels forming a circle at the end of the weapon and seeming to glower at the Rangers and Hunters. On the other arm, a miniature gun was positioned on top of his forearm. The mutant laughed, his expressionless face remaining impassive.

"What are _you _doing here?" Ransik demanded.

"Nadira sent me," the mutant replied, "She didn't want you distracted by the Rangers... when they showed up."

Ransik looked around, searching for Celia, but the demon/woman/_whatever_ the hell she was... was leaning heavily against the brick wall. She was gasping for air and shivering, looking like she had just experienced a severe heart attack. Her eyes flicked up and met his, she bared her teeth and let out the same warning hiss. Ransik moved to step towards he but balked when the blade twisted in his ribs. Grumbling under his breath, he turned, muttering to the mutant: "Finish this. I don't want to see the Rangers popping up ever again." With that, he flickered and disappeared, teleporting off to his hideout; Sam and Dean's mouths fell open with surprise, and they exchanged a look of utter confusion.

"Are we stuck in an episode of 'Star Trek' or what?" Dean joked.

Jen turned slightly and shot him a look from over her shoulder, the expression was hidden behind her visor, so Dean never knew that in that instant, if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead. Her voice tipped him off though: "This isn't a _joke. _Let's go!" She took on the mutant first, as usual, jumping into a hitch-kick, the flat of her boot striking him in the chest and knocking him back a foot or two; she braced herself by bending her knees at nearly a 45 degree angle, then rapidly straightened them and leapt into the air. The spin kick caught the mutant in the side of his face, and he growled in pain as she landed back on the ground and Lucas jumped up, not giving their opponent a moment to breathe; the Blue Ranger delivered two quick punches to the mutant's rock hard abdomen, then a snap kick to his left knee that forced him to the ground.

Sam and Dean had been watching for the whole encounter-- which had lasted only about twenty seconds --trying to get a feel for how the mutant moved, what sort of power he possessed. The Rangers didn't seem incredibly phased by him though, so the brothers moved in to join the fight. Sam lashed out with a punch to the mutant's face, but instantly recoiled when his knuckles met what felt like pure metal; Dean drew his 1911 Colt and leveled it at the mutant, shouting a harsh "Down!" before squeezing off a round as the Rangers and Sam ducked close to the ground. The .45 whizzed through the air... and clinked off the breastplate the mutant had formed to his skin.

"Aww, what the--?" Dean didn't have time to finish his sentence. His words cut off abruptly when he felt a searing pain in his right thigh; a bright laser had shot out from the gun on the mutant's arm and struck him with the force of a bullet. He fell, cracking the back of his head on the pavement. Blood spurted from the wound on his leg. "Shit!" he sputtered, clumsily fumbling with the injury as the mutant started toward him, chuckling threateningly.

"Dean!" Sam cried, panic rushing through his body as he perceived the threat against his only family. He ran full force at the mutant, not pausing for a second and using his momentum to take the enemy down; he placed his boot on the side of the mutant's knee and kicked savagely, an action that would have destroyed any normal opponent's knee and taken them down. Instead, it hurt _him. _It was like kicking a brick wall. The mutant stumbled only slightly, then whirled around with his arm in the air; Sam barely had time to duck, and still caught a heavy fist to his temple. He dropped to his knees as nausea and dizziness overwhelmed him, and the sounds of Katie and Trip taking on the mutant only faintly registered in his ears.

"Hold him, Katie!"

"Got him!"

A punch-- or a kick --some kind of impact. The mutant muttered grumpily. Then someone... _Katie?_ ... cried out in pain. Sam blinked slowly, trying to clear his foggy vision enough to rejoin the engagement; a blur of yellow went by as Katie fell to the ground, then green as Trip helped her back to her feet. Wildly, he searched for Dean -- his brother was still down, but Celia was already at his side, trying to heft his weight back to his feet without collapsing herself.

"Hey-- you okay?"

Sam's eyes finally cleared, and he looked up to see Eric standing next to him, a gloved hand extended to help him up. The young Hunter nodded, accepting the offer and using Eric as leverage to pull himself to his feet; he quickly muttered "Just needed a second", then drew his own gun-- a Berette 92fs 9x19 Parabellum --and fired off four well-aimed shots, hoping quantity would do what Dean's quality couldn't. The shots went where he wanted them to, two in the chest, one in the stomach, and one in the head. Again, the shots were ineffective. The mutant raised the same gun he'd shot down Dean with earlier, the laser raced toward Sam, but fell short; it hit the ground near him, kicking up concrete and expoding upon impact. Sam was flung into the air and backwards, landing a yard from his brother.

"Your little toys are _useless!"_ the mutant laughed.

Eric spun around, his leg coming up in a windmill motion and the side of his booted foot hitting the mutant in his thick neck. "Quantum Defender!" he shouted, drawing on his blaster and pressing it into the mutant's chest, shooting it at point-blank range. Sparks flew. The mutant cried out and fell, clutching his injured chest.

"Sam!"

The younger Winchester's head twisted around to look at her, Celia dug into her pocket with one hand.

"Sam! The Sixes! Go!" She tossed the Silverado keys. The younger Winchester caught them mid stride, racing towards the Chevrolet truck, aiming to jump right into the bed from the street. Fiddling with the keys to find the one for the tool box at the same time. Five steps short of the truck Sam was bowled completely off his feet when Lucas' thrown frame slammed into him. The keys clattered to the earth while Sam and the Blue Ranger tired to untangle themselves and get back to their feet.

Dean and Celia were up, and together they took on the mutant. Celia snarled and punched the mutant in the face just as he got back on his feet, his large head flew back with the force, but before she could do more, Dean sharply pulled her back. "Take it easy," he snapped.

"Dean, I--"

"I don't wanna take any chances," Dean interrupted, and turned his attention back to the fight. Grunting, he pulled his arm back, then pushed it forward, his fist colliding with the mutant's throat; it hurt like hell, and blood started running down his hand from his knuckles, but the mutant seemed to feel it this time. Still, he responded by lashing out with a punch of his own, digging his fist into Dean's gut twice, then kicking him aside, breaking a rib. Dean gasped. Celia lunged forward, snapping her leg up and out, hitting the mutant under his jaw; he reached out, his giant hands gripping each of her arms, and raised her into the air, then threw her aside like a rag doll. Helpless to stop him, Celia felt herself flying through the air, a moment later crashing into the wall of a nearby building, and slumping to the ground, exhausted. Dean bit back the pain in his ribs and got back up. He didn't even have a chance to launch an attack before the mutant kicked him in the chest and he was done on the ground again.

"Time Strike!"

The voice was Wes', and came as he jumped up, raising his Chrono Saber as it powered up; as he came down, the saber cut across the mutant's front, causing awesome sparks to fly around the both of them. Jen jumped into a tornado kick, the impact of her foot against the mutant forcing him to the ground; Eric kicked him in the face, knocking him onto his back.

"All right... let's finish him off," Jen said.

"Vortex Blaster!" Wes called.

The five Rangers stood close to each other with their personal weapons in hand, then combined them together to create one large weapon, one resembling a cannon. It took only a second for it to charge, then as Wes shouted "Fire!" a brilliant flash of light shot out and hit the mutant head-on as he struggled back to his feet. The explosion that followed forced the Winchesters and Celia to look away, expecting blood and body parts to rain down on them at any moment; to their shock, what was left behind from the explosion was a mini-version of the mutant.

"That's no bigger than Ken doll," Dean mumbled, wincing painfully.

"What... the _hell _is going?" Celia wondered, quietly, letting her head fall back against the brick.

"Nice job, guys." Jen walked up to the miniature mutant, producing her badge and hovering it over him; the mutant was transported, materializing again in a tiny case. The Pink Ranger glanced at Dean: "We have to get this into the Clock Tower."

"First things first, Jen," Wes told her, gently helping Sam to his feet with Lucas' help.

Jen looked around... Dean was sitting up only slightly, one arm wrapped around his middle and his leg still bleeding badly; Celia looked dead tired, bruised and bloody, breathing as heavy as a runner at the end of a marathon; Sam was unsteady, leaning almost entirely on Wes, blood running down the side of his face. They were beat to Hell. She knew the feeling.

"Get them back to the motel," she ordered, "I'm going back to the Tower... Wes, you come with me. We've gotta lock this guy up."

"Be careful," Dean said, clearly unhappy with the plan.

"We'll bring back some First Aid kits, too," Jen went on, then looked directly at Celia. "And I want to know what the _hell _we walked in on earlier-- " Celia flinched, whether it was from the pain she was obviously in or the embarrassment of her situation, Jen didn't know. Or care. "I need to know if you're going to be a threat to my team."

"You don't gotta worry about that, Butch" Celia growled harshly.

"We'll see." Jen's eyes narrowed slightly, she didn't bother to try to hard her suspicion. "Come on, Wes." Together, they turned and started walking in the direction of the Tower.

Eric demorphed and knelt by Dean's side, reaching into the cargo pocket of his pants and getting out a roll of bandages. "Better take care of that... it's at least a mile to the motel." Dean only grunted slightly in response, then gritted his teeth as the Quantum Ranger went about bandaging up his leg; to his side, Lucas was inspecting the gash on the side of Sam's head.

Trip nervously approached Celia, who was still sitting against the wall she had slammed into earlier; she looked like a half stuffed rag doll, legs stretched out stiffly, her arms tightly wrapped around her stomach. She was shaking. Concern overwhelmed the young Xybrian, and he timidly asked: "Are y-you okay?"

"Leave me alone, kid."

Trip licked his lips and shifted his weight awkwardly. "Do you need... any help?" he continued, somehow unable to leave her as she wanted him to.

"I'm serious, Greenhorn... now is _not _a good time."

"Trip," Katie said, taking his arm, "Come on... let's give Eric a hand."

"Shouldn't bother…" Dean muttered. "It's going to need stitches."

"Stuffs in the truck." Celia muttered quietly. She flinched in pain, twisting and stretching to grab the fallen keys from the side walk and held them like they weighed a hundred pounds. Then started to push herself to her feet, failed and slid back down the wall.

"Will you sit on you're butt for a second 'til I get over there?" Dean growled.

"Sam?" Celia sighed and offered the keys.

The younger brother gave a tiny head shake and nearly fell over, Lucas grabbing his arm before he hit the asphalt. "I got a concussion."

"Dean?" Celia asked, rolling her eyes towards the elder Winchester.

"No can do…maybe the Impala but the truck's to big, I'll roll it." Dean rasped.

"Damnit, Eric." She tossed the keys and Eric caught them instinctively, he turned the keys over in his hand. "Ya hurt my truck and I'll do to ya what that bitch did to me."

Dean let a small laugh escape his lips and flinched when his ribs shifted. Eric looked at him then at Celia who'd slumped back against the wall. He slipped the keys in his pocket and went back to work on Dean's leg.

"Oh and yer ugly friend's sword thing is under the frame…kicked it there…"

"You got Ransik's sword?" Lucas choked. Celia nodded her head stiffly.

"Guess its fair trade…" She muttered, sounding like she was going to fall asleep.

"Why?" Dean asked.

Celia rolled her eyes towards him and swallowed stiffly. "That bastard's got my Dad's knife."

Dean looked startled, "Which one?"

"That buck he took off a witch in Canada in '76." Celia muttered.

"Awe God…" Dean lifted a hand and scrubbed his face. "How?"

Celia blinked heavily then her lips pulled slightly into a smile, "Its in his ribs."

She and Dean both let out stiff chuckles of laughter that didn't last very long before they faded to pants for breath, but their smiles stayed.

"That... thing," Sam gasped, swaying on his feet, "We didn't stand a chance against him... "

"Hey," Lucas said, "To be fair... we ended up even worse after we met those vampires."

"Bullets didn't even scratch him," Dean muttered, "How's that possible?" He swore as Eric tightened the bandage. "I had a friggin' .45, too, not some shitty 9mm." He shook his head. "We've seen... things before, that couldn't be hurt with bullets. But not like this."

"They're mutants from the _Thirty-First_ Century," Katie said, "Weapons from a thousand years before their time are bound to be a little... inadequate. Don't you think?"

"Depends on what kind…got to start carryin' one of the Sixes on hip…" Celia mumbled.

"When I hit him... he felt like iron," Sam said, "You guys didn't seem to have any problem."

"It's our suits," Lucas explained, "They come with some advantages. Protection, strength, the works... if we weren't morphed, we probably wouldn't last a minute one-on-one with a mutant, either. You three held your own pretty well." One brow quickly raised as a thought flickered through his mind. "That guy wasn't actually that bad though... "

Dean blinked. "Oh really?"

"It's true," Trip chimed, "Usually... when we blow them up like that, they grow to be about one hundred feet, and we have to call on the Megazord to come fight them." He shrugged. "Sometimes not."

"One hundred... " Dean's voice trailed off. He raised a hand to his aching head. "Just keeps getting weirder and weirder... "

Eric stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, then tucking what was left of the bandages away. "All right, fixed up for now. Let's get out of here." He helped Dean up, and the eldest Winchester limped over to Celia as she climbed to her feet.

"What the fuck happened there?" he asked, softly.

Celia pressed her lips together. "You know what happened, Dean." She moved on her own steam, the short rest against the wall building enough that she could walk on her own.

Dean closed his eyes briefly, letting out a deep sigh. There was nothing left to say, no words of comfort or encouragement he could offer, so he turned his attention to his younger brother, who was holding onto Lucas for support. Sam's face was covered with tiny scratches, the skin around one eye was turning a nasty blue-purple color, he was so out of it that he dragged his feet instead of picking them up. Dean's heart constricted with worry.

"Dude," he said, attempting a laugh, "You look like crap."

"Yeah, well... right back at ya." Sam smirked, then grimaced.

"Need a hand?" Katie asked, noting how Dean struggled with his leg, hardly able to put any weight on it at all.

He looked at her tall, skinny frame dubiously. "From you?"

Katie laughed. "You'd be surprised... " she looped an arm under Dean's shoulders, allowing him to use her in place of his leg.

"I'm fine-- " he tried to pull away, but stumbled and nearly fell. Then he scowled, displeased with having to rely on anyone for support, no matter how badly he needed it. His pride was in for a world of hurt, too. _We got our asses handed to us, _he admitted to himself, something he would never admit aloud.

So maybe Sam _was _right. Maybe, _just _maybe, they could learn a thing or two from the colorful group of teenagers.

The thought bothered him more than he wanted to acknowledge as he limped along the street, and a quick glance toward a shuddering, arms-crossed Celia didn't help matters. An hour ago, they had too many problems to know how to deal with... and he had an unsettling feeling they'd just added to the list.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**. Chapter Eleven**

…

_**Clock Tower**_

_**6:00 PM**_

"Uhh... Jen?"

A deep sigh. Then Jen turned around and looked back at the Red Ranger, who remained ten steps below her, watching her through a pair of wary, blue eyes; Wes had been silent the entire walk back to the Clock Tower, as if sensing the tension coming from Jen. She wasn't surprised, it felt like the emotion was radiating off her body.

"What?" she asked.

"Red... back at the fight," Wes started, haltingly, the way he always spoke when she was upset about something. " ... What are you going to do about her?"

Jen raised one, thin eyebrow. "I think it's pretty clear we can't trust her."

Wes shrugged. "Maybe... maybe not. Doesn't seem like she was too thrilled about what happened, either." He saw the fight starting up in Jen's eyes, and held up his hands in protest: "I'm not taking sides, Jen. I'm just saying... maybe we should at least hear hers before you start trying to put her in one of those-- " he gestured toward the container in her hand.

Jen rolled her eyes, turning back around and continuing on her way up the stairs as she spoke: "I'm not going to freeze her... but we need to take a step back and figure out if we can really work with her. What if she goes demon on us? Do you really think we could handle something like that?" Shaking her head, she added: _"Ransik _barely held his own. And he wipes the floor with us."

"Didn't seem like it was a regular thing."

"Yeah, well... it would only take once."

"We need their help."

Jen glared at him over her shoulder. "No, we don't. Just because we didn't know what we were getting into the first time around, doesn't mean we won't be ready the next time," she said, "It was nice of them to help us out... but I don't trust them. _Any _of them. Not just Celia." At Wes' confused stare, she went on: "Oh, come on... don't you think it's a little weird that a thousand years from now, there is _no _record of these things they talk about? Vampires, ghosts, demons. Nothing."

"It's not _that _strange," Wes said, "Things get mixed up... especially over the course of a thousand years." He smirked. "You don't know, maybe Time Force has a special division set up for this supernatural stuff!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't see what's so ridiculous about it. Red mentioned that Hunters have been around for five thousand years. FIVE thousand and the public still knows nothing! Another thousand doesn't seem like a stretch."

They reached the top. Jen stalked over to the metal shelf and opened it up after dialing in the code, then placed the container amidst the others; she took a moment before speaking again. "I'm the leader, Wes... I don't want to see any of my team get hurt. And Celia... she's a threat."

"She can also be a big help," Wes countered, "Besides... we've been saying that same thing about Eric ever since he showed up in town. So far, he hasn't revealed himself to be the Anti-Christ."

"Eric isn't a demon... I think." Wes chuckled at the dry joke, and Jen cracked a tiny smile before running her fingers through her dark hair, piled up in a messy ponytail, troubled again. "I don't know... I just don't feel like this is right. I can't explain why."

Wes dropped the subject then, knowing there was nowhere else to go with it and wisely deciding to avoiding pressuring Jen any further; since the Time Force Rangers arrival to the year 2007 a few months ago, Jen's cold exterior had cracked slightly, the stabbing pain from her devastating loss of Alex gradually decreasing... but she still often withdrew from him and the others. He could tell just by looking into her haunted eyes that a withdrawal was about to happen soon.

"Anything we need to bring back to the motel?" he asked.

"Celia said there were first aid kits in the truck... and our weapons are useless against the vampires." Jen sank down onto the wooden bench that was set up alongside the picnic table in the center of the room. "We're close enough that we can keep an eye on the Tower, to make sure no one goes in. We should take shifts."

"We can't have anyone outside alone," Wes reminded her.

"Fine... we'll check the windows, maybe the Tower is visible from one."

Jen eyed Wes somewhat warily as he walked over and sat down beside her, slapping his hands to his knees and taking a deep breath. "So... what'd you think about Ransik attacking Celia? I guess he knows about the vamps, probably working with them." Jen snorted faintly, but he went on: "I know Sam said vamps are tight-knit and don't like to work with others, but if they've all survived over a hundred years they've gotta be smart, too... and what would be smarter than joining forces with the biggest badass in town?"

"Great... mutants _and _vampires."

"I know... as if we didn't have enough to deal with already," Wes said, " ... Sam and Dean are only human, we can't expect them to put up much of a fight against Ransik, or any other mutant.. And Celia might lose control again if she goes at it with one of them. So it's just us... but hey, at least they can deal with the vamps." He smiled.

"Which is more than we can say," Jen admitted, bringing one hand up to her face and rubbing her forehead gingerly.

"We'll get 'em next time, Jen." Again, Wes gave her an encouraging smile, then slapped his hand down on her shoulder, wincing slightly as he stood, still stiff and sore from their first encounter with the vampire pack. He rolled his shoulder, rubbed it with his hand, and cracked his neck loudly. Then, in a soft voice: "We should get back."

...

_**Ransik's Hideout -- Prison Ship**_

_**6:00 PM**_

Dominique and Ransik stood face-to-face as the mutant leader was patched up by one of his thoughtless cyclobots; he was covered in green bruises, there was a nasty gash running down the exposed side of his face, and a knife was embedded deep inside his ribs. The cyclobot was currently working on repositioning the bones in Ransik's hand, before moving up to the elbow and shoulder and the mutant grunted painfully as the bones grinded together and were put back in place.

"Have fun? You underestimated her," Dominique stated.

"Hardly!" Ransik laughed, "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"From what we saw... " Dante said, "That is only by luck. Or rather, by the intervention of a certain Hunter, one named Dean Winchester. It's just _sad_ when you have to be _saved_ by a Hunter."

"If you truly believe that," Ransik replied, "Then _you _have severely underestimated _me." _He shook his head, slowly, to avoid any additional pain. "She was a formidable opponent, at the end. But she was as weak as a kitten when we first met."

"That was her human side," Dominique explained easily, "The woman you fought at the end... that was a demon. She was holding back, too, had to be. A demon could tear you apart." Grudgingly, he went on: "And us."

"Believe what you want, _Vampire,"_ Nadira sneered, from her place by the TV. "Fact is, your all-powerful demon went up against my daddy... and he's still standing." She stuck her nose in the air, then turned back to watching her show.

_"Barely," _Angelique growled.

"ENOUGH!" Dominique and Ransik both snapped. They looked at each other again, equally exasperated with their respective teams; Ransik spoke first: "The woman... she didn't want to let the demon take control. She will be vulnerable from now on. She'll hold back. Now is the perfect time to strike."

"For once... I agree," Dominique conceded, "The Winchester brothers are weakened, as well."

One corner of Ransik's mouth turned up in a smirk. "Yes."

"The Rangers need them," Dixon said. Even he had a small smile on his usually solemn face.

"Without the Hunters... they'll practically be defenseless," Dante confirmed.

"We could take them all!" Peter cried, excitedly.

Dominique nodded. "Then it's settled," he said, "We attack while they're open for the kill. No more waiting. No more wasting time."

Ransik grinned. "The time is now."

...

_**The Silver Ring Inn, Room 34**_

_**6:45 PM**_

"You guys have everything in here... " Eric sighed quietly and lifted a small glass bottle and a syringe still packaged in paper and plastic out of a steel tackle box filled to the brim with medical supplies. "Even morphine."

"Oh, dibs," Dean grumbled from his place on the bed. He rolled to his side and stretched, taking the bottle and syringe out of Eric's hands, and swiftly stripped the packaging away with his teeth, slid the needle into the cloth top and filled the needle with several CCs of morphine. Setting the glass bottle aside, Dean lifted his arm over his head and injected the drug into his own system. The elder Winchester waited a few seconds before sighing and letting his arm drop back to the mattress. He lifted the needle, still half full of clear morphine.

"Sam?"

The younger brother shook his head against the ice pack in his hand. "Not with a concussion."

"Anybody else?" Dean asked, twitching the needle in his hands. "I swear I don't have any STDs or blood borne diseases."

Lucas, Katie and Trip looked at him oddly. Eric rolled his eyes and sighed under his breath.

"That you know of," Sam muttered.

"Bitch," Dean growled.

"Jerk," the younger man responded instantly.

"What about Red?" The Quantum Ranger asked, hoping to stop what looked to be a bickering session in the making.

"Morphine makes her vomit," Sam muttered and gently shoved Valentine away from him, the albino German Shepherd had been insistent on licking his hand for the last twenty minutes.

Dean dug into the torn package and pulled out a cap for the needle. "Write my name on that, bro." Dean handed the syringe to Eric, who cocked his head and looked into the tackle box. "There's a marker in the last compartment, on the bottom," Dean said, his eyes already drifting closed as the drug numbed him from the pain.

Eric dug into the box and pulled out a sharpie-- writing 'Dean' on the glass of the needle --and put them both back into the tackle box, then continued his search through the medical supplies that had come out of the toolbox across the bed of the Silverado. Dean wouldn't let him anywhere near the Impala and he still had the keys to the truck. He'd found the toolbox fascinating, though he was unable to explain half of what he saw.

The metal container was packed with weapons, both in their original forms and customized into designs specifically for the Hunt. Firearms, both handguns and long guns, knives of different shapes, sizes and foiled of not only steel but iron, silver, brass even gold, bone and clay. Most engraved with Latin, ancient symbols and Native American glyphs. A machete, a large silver spike, a reinforced shovel and axe, flairs, tazer guns, wire, rope, a collection of different, dried herbs and bottles and flasks filled with holy water or other concoctions and mixtures of oils, herbs, common house hold items. A vast array of ammunition, ranging from standard big game hunting bullets, to high velocity, hollow points to a Winchester original, shot gun cartridges filled with rock salt. To top everything off there were a few large books, bound in leather, some printed and some hand written and most bestiaries.

Eric had been tempted to root through the toolbox but had resorted to only take the steel container marked with a Red Cross sticker from the gear. His eyes lingering on two sets of antique Colt six-shooters in leather holsters and strung on leather belts, he shut and locked the lid again.

The three Rangers and Eric had stood back while Dean, Celia and Sam went through the motions-- it was clear that they had been through situations like this before. Celia had been silent through most of it, before Eric had the chance she'd stitched Dean's leg up; each of them had been dosed with mild painkillers and took six minute showers, trashed their destroyed clothes and pulled on fresh jeans and T-shirts. Celia insisting to take hers last, and she was currently locked in the bathroom with Buckshot pressed against the door. The large dog growled warningly when anyone, even one of the brothers, walked passed.

"Is this a horse tranquilizer?" Eric asked, lifting another glass bottle.

"Knowin' Red, probably," Sam muttered with a small smile before he flinched against the ice pack. Dean's sigh sounded more like a muffled laugh.

"Why is that funny?" Trip asked, quietly.

"Because she's a horse trainer back home," Sam explained. "Breeder, too."

"Really?" Eric asked, his dark eyebrows raising in an expression that clearly conveyed interest.

"Yep," Dean said, shifting and flinching for a second before he settled back against the mattress again. "Her competing days are over for the most part."

"Where's back home?" Katie asked, running a hand through her frizzy hair.

"Nowhere you need to worry about," Dean grumbled, irritable from the pain and annoyance of being injured. "You'll never see it."

"Hunters only," Sam said, considerably less hostile. His eyes flashed up when Buckshot trotted through the large room toward the door. Dean instantly sat up, fighting back a touch of nausea.

Celia walked stiffly, fiddling with a small rubber band and her damp hair, the red color looked almost black wet. She'd changed into a loose fitting pair of jeans, and a tank top that exposed her arms, back and shoulders, the Rangers were startled to see that most of the bruises on the surface of her skin had already changed color, looking several days old instead of just an hour or two. The flesh wound across her upper chest had long stopped bleeding, the skin that had looked raw, now looked more like a mild first degree burn than anything else. The wound had luckily spared a circular tattoo on the right side of her chest, a tribal design of black, red, blue and brown-- a crow and an otter caught in a balancing circle. The gash across her upper bicep had been stitched closed and didn't look anywhere near swollen, minor scrapes and lacerations had already healed completely over. Any injuries below the waist were hidden by the jeans, her bare feet padded across the floor totally silent. She made absolutely no noise when she moved. Her eyes turned instantly to Sam and Dean.

"All right?" she asked, her voice was raspy and painful.

"Yeah," Sam responded. "How's the tooth?"

"It'll be grown in by tomorrow," Celia said quietly.

"Okay... c'mon. Pow-wow," Dean ordered and pushed himself up, heading for the door. Celia slumped a little and took a deep but shaky breathe before following on his heels. Sam started to push himself up, tossing the ice pack onto the table but sat back down when dizziness hit him again. Dean and Celia's attention focused on him in a heartbeat.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was tinged with worry.

"I'm going to sit," Sam said, "Still concussed... Dean, watch it alright?"

"Yeah yeah yeah... " the elder Winchester muttered and opened the door, standing back so Celia could slip out passed him, he followed and shut the door softly but securely.

"Is he going to yell at her?" Trip asked quietly, his eyes wide with empathy. Sam blinked at the young alien's concern. "Jen yells at us sometimes about fights that go bad."

"He's going to talk to her, Trip," Sam sighed assuringly, "When it's about _Shuka Wakan_ Dean's real careful about talking to her. He cares too much to about her to scream at her over something like this. He likes to yell, that's for damn sure, but he doesn't yell at her... unless she screams at him first, of course."

"_Shuka Wakan_ is the demon," Eric said quietly, far from a question.

"Demons have names and that's his."

"'His'?" Lucas blinked. "Red's possessed by a guy?"

A sneaky smirk appeared on the young man's face, and Katie snorted, rolling her eyes and muttering: "Perv."

"No, by a male demon," Sam corrected.

"He's the reason she's almost healed all the way, isn't he? Why her tooth'll grow back by tomorrow... " Eric said.

"Demons can't die," Sam said. "They're already dead... sort of... they can't be killed. When they posses someone it's kind of like they're driving a car or wearing a suit, they're totally protected while the body around them takes the brunt of the blow. Doesn't matter what happens... shot, set on fire, blown up, lynched, the demon just being there heals all the wounds and keeps the engine going."

"Sounds kind of handy," Lucas mumbled.

Sam glared at him. "As soon as the demon decides to upgrade-- find a new ride --all those injuries stack back up on the body. A host usually doesn't survive being possessed," Sam growled, finalizing the conversation. "It's a curse."

...

Jen walked stiffly next to Wes, half not believing that she was abandoning the Clock Tower again to go check on perfect strangers. The old building had been home for months, and everything was there. Katie's diary, what few pictures they had brought with them from the year 3000, and more important things like the captured mutants, their technology, weapons. Things she hated to leave behind.

Her eyes flashed up when the sound of voices drifted across the parking lot toward them, the two Rangers eyes roved to the catwalk of the second floor toward the stairs-- their backs to Wes and Jen, Dean and Celia were sitting on the top step. Wes started to call out when Jen's hand slammed shut over his mouth, muffling his voice as she dragged him aside, ducking quickly behind the Silverado. Jen's hand pressed tightly into Wes' mouth and she watched when Celia's head twitched aside, looking around, the Pink Ranger actually saw her nose crinkling, nostrils flaring as if scenting the air.

"What's up?" Dean asked, quietly.

Celia hesitated before shaking her head slightly. "Driftin' scent, I guess," she sighed.

Jen let go of Wes and crept closer, straining to listen.

"Jen," Wes whispered so softly he was practically mouthing at her. "This isn't right."

She shushed him with a wave of her hand and listened as Dean addressed Celia again.

"What's going on here, Celia?" Dean asked. Jen noted that they seemed to have been talking for a while. "You're short tempered, foul mouthed-- even more than usual. It's like your nerves are shot-- "

"I know... I hate it... " Celia sighed.

"They think you're dangerous. Especially the pink one, she looked at you like a rabid wolf back there."

"I wouldn't hurt any of 'em," Celia said solidly. "That bastard was beatin' on me for half an hour... I blinked, I admit it, and he took the second."

"All he needs is a blink, and you have _never_ given it that much room before. Your control is slipping and this isn't the first time... you've been a bitch for the last three weeks. I've seen your eyes black more in that time than I have in the last three years."

Celia didn't respond.

"You're not sick and there weren't any breaks in the trap?"

"I looked in the mirror. It's solid... "

There was a second of silence.

"Are you pregnant or something?"

"Dean... " Celia growled. "Ya know I can't carry."

"Just making sure, seemed like hormones. The way Sammy gets when he's being pissy. Like PMS."

"Shut up." She rubbed a hand through her hair, then ran a hand down her arm, pausing over the purple bruise on her bicep. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Dean. I feel kind of... compressed."

"Compressed?"

"Squeezed... heavier... this thin' is gettin' heavier. I mean it…it feels like he's literally gainin' weight."

"There's a reason they call him the Swallower, right? Maybe he's found something to feed off. Stress, anger... are you having nightmares?"

Celia sighed again. "Not really... maybe I've just been too far from home for too long."

There was a few minutes of silence, then Dean cleared his throat. "Celia... M'amin... maybe we need to think about relaying the trap."

Horror blazed in her eyes. "Oh, God, no..."

"Maybe the seal's getting weak, you know? Magic like this _does _get older, and it fades. You and I both know that our dads did it right the first time, but Nathaniel passed away nineteen years ago and maybe while Dad was alive he was anchoring the seal. But he's been dead for two years now so its real power is cracking."

"A week lyin' on my stomach with an open wound across my back, salt and ink and holy water rubbed in..."

"I don't like it any better than you-- "

"I think ya like it a little more."

"I'm sorry... "

"Ya have no clue how much it hurts." Celia looked like she was shivering.

Dean waited a few seconds. "We finish this job, ditch the teens, don't take any more Hunts for two weeks.

We all go back to Tuscarora, we'll talk to Eli-- "

She cut him off. "I don't want to bother him-- "

"_I_ do. We'll talk to Eli and see what he says, listen to his suggestions. If he and Sam agree with me, will you consider it?"

"Dean-- "

"Consider it, think about it... I'll do it and Sam'll help."

"This isn't just a little patch job, yer talkin' 'bout a complete over haul."

"And I swear I won't leave you alone. You won't be able to get rid of me." He smiled slightly, but there was no humor or warmth in his green eyes.

Celia's head dropped forward and she swallowed.

"Just consider it, all right?"

Celia's narrow chest filled and she nodded. Dean sighed deeply, far from a noise of relief. Then he reached for her.

Out of sight, Jen bristled and felt a bitter taste flood her mouth when the elder Winchester leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Celia's lips. He lifted a hand to her jaw and deepened the kiss for a second before breaking off and resting his forehead against hers.

_Alex's lips pressed to hers as they stood under the moonlight... his gentle hands, so calloused and scarred, touching her like she was porcelain... his voice, sometimes severe and harsh when giving out orders, asking her that fateful question as the sun set over Silver City. "Jennifer... will you marry me?"  
_

Jen swallowed the lump in her throat and roughly ran a hand over her watering eyes. How a fucking _demon _could find happiness in the world while she lost the only man she'd ever loved was beyond her.

Celia leaned forward and returned the kiss, quickly intensifying and deepening the embrace. One of her hands moved to roam over Dean's torso. He hissed and pulled back sharply when she touched his bruised ribs.

"I can't…I can't." He rasped tiredly and smiled at the red head apologetically.

"Sorry…just been a while." Celia sighed.

"Trust me, I know…all right," Dean said, and pressed a quick kiss to her temple as he pushed himself up. "C'mon, you need some sleep."

She waved him off. "I'm goin' to sit for a minute."

"Don't come back smelling like smoke," Dean ordered with a small smile.

"Out of my power," Celia replied, shifting to pull out a squashed pack of cigarettes. She slipped one out and placed it between her teeth before extracting a lighter and flicking on the flame.

Jen and Wes stood, watching as Dean slipped back into the motel room, then Jen started forward, her boots thudding on the asphalt then the metal stairs, marching toward Celia. The redhead's eyes flicked up to meet hers, keeping the gaze until the younger and smaller woman was standing on a step several below her. Wes hung back behind her, shifting his weight and making the stairs creak a little.

Celia puffed out a small cloud of smoke and looked Jen up and down.

"What do ya want?" she muttered, uninterested.

"We need to talk," Jen said, firmly.

"I'm not takin' a lecture from ya, Butch. Pack sand." Celia's eyes narrowed. Jen's teeth ground together, she looked ready for a throwdown fist fight.

"I'm not-- "

"Older than me, related in any way, _or _a Hunter. Ya've got nothin' I want to hear," Celia cut her off and snorted through her nose. "I already heard it all from Dean."

"I have plenty more to say than whatever he told you," Jen snapped. "And I may not be any of those things... but I'm not some bimbo you can boss around, either."

"Ya saw what happened to me today?"

"Of course."

"Do ya know what it's like to be so absolutely terrified of yerself... that ya would rather let a son of a bitch like Ransik beat ya to death then fight back and risk losin' yerself? Risk gettin' so out of control that ya could turn on someone?"

Jen blinked. "No."

"Then there's nothin' ya need to say."

"It's not that simple."

An annoyed sigh heaved out Celia's chest "Why not?" She asked almost sarcastically.

"Because you didn't let Ransik kill you," Jen stated.

"Ya suggestin' I should have?" Celia growled coldly.

"No! You damn near killed _him. _Hell, look up 'liability' in the dictionary and there's probably a picture of you beside it! How am I supposed to trust you around my team?"

Celia inhaled slowly, then released the breath, and another whiff of smoke. "I would never hurt any of yer team. I'd be more likely to try and gut Sam in his sleep."

"You can't promise me that," Jen said, "If you had that much control of the demon inside... you would be dead right now and Ransik wouldn't have a mark on him." She folded her arms, meeting Celia's eyes without flinching. "Can you tell me I'm wrong?"

"Yeah, I can. I've been trained by some of the best since I was a pup and I can hold my own without it's help. I've takin' on thin's twice Ransik's size and five times his weight since I was thirteen. I lost control today. Never again."

"Prove it."

"Fuck ya."

Jen snarled, lashed out and gripped Celia's shirt, forcing her to her feet before she could protest, the older woman's reflexes slowed by her injuries. Inches from one another's faces, Wes jumped nervously, wondering if he should step in. Jen spoke again, spitting in the red head's face: "Either you show me that I can trust you in battle... or I make sure you spend the rest of this fight in a twelve-inch tube, got it?"

Celia wrenched Jen's hand away from her, a deep rumble sounding within her chest. Her eyes went black for a moment, lips curling and baring animal like teeth in her face. "Just where do ya come off threatenin' me?" she demanded.

"I was willing to put up with your shit," Jen said, "And I _have_. I abandoned the only home I have because you said so, I overlooked the fact that you assaulted one of my team, I was even willing to put the _possessed-by-a-demon _thing behind us. But you can't expect me to forget about what I saw today. And if you were me, you would be saying the same thing."

Celia grunted. It was an admission of truth.

"All right, Butch," she said, "Ya got me there... if I were ya, I wouldn't sit back and close my eyes to what I'd seen. I'd want some answers. Some assurance. And it'd probably be more, if I was in that position I'd probably cuff ya to chair, beat the ever lovin' crap out of ya, pour holy water all over ya, send yer demon spinnin' back Hell and leave ya a bloody, beaten corpse." She leveled Jen with her gaze pounding the truth in. "But I cain't give ya what ya want. All I can give ya is my word that it won't happen again. _I won't let it._"

Jen looked like she wanted to protest, but Celia held up a hand, and she stayed silent.

"I'm sorry," the Hunter said, "But that's all I'll say. That's all I _can _say, honestly. 'Cause it's all I've got."

They stood there in complete silence for at least a minute, then Celia sank back down on the step and began puffing again; another minute passed, then another, finally, Jen sat down beside her and released the breath she'd been holding. Wes relaxed, slumping against the railing lower on the stairs.

"Give me a smoke," Jen murmured.

A blink of surprise, then Celia reached into her pack and produced a cigarette; Jen took it, put it in her mouth, then leaned forward to the lighter Celia flicked and held up for her. They sat together, not speaking, as the moon hovered in the sky and somewhere, miles away, a coyote howled in a lonesome voice.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

…

_**The Silver Ring Inn, Room 34**_

_**9:59 PM**_

Peace didn't mean friendship... or real trust. That extended to food.

Jen's nose crinkled as Sam set a plate in front of her. Once his large hand had moved away to place another platter in front of Lucas a small curl of steam rose to tickle Jen's nose.

It didn't smell too unpleasant... just horribly greasy.

Eric had a similar look on his face. He and Jen shared one aspect, they both believed in the cardinal rule that you were what you ate, the body was a temple. No garbage. They were both about as close to health nuts as you could get short of living off a crab grass and tofu diet. That was, of course, discounting the occasional cigarette. When one lived a life like theirs... it was hard to resist a rare dose of Nicotine.

Both had hoped that groceries bought at a late night supermarket would reflect their beliefs, especially since it was Wes that accompanied the elder Winchester on the trip.

Evidently it didn't matter what they bought. Celia was the designated chief of the Hunter's small group, the only one of them that hadn't been raised on drive-thru food and had some actual training culinary wise. The way Dean wouldn't shut up about her skills with skillet you think she was worthy of the attention of French masters.

Jen figured the Winchesters didn't have high expectations.

Jen examined the food on the plate, her hesitation influencing her fellow Rangers and they hung back from eating as well.

"It ain't poisoned."

Jen's eyes snapped up to where Celia stood by the small stove top in the kitchenette of the hotel room, some time earlier in the evening, Celia's temper had fouled until Dean handed her a pair of glasses which she had unfolded, slid onto her face and mellowed out considerably. She was still wearing them, small frames perched on her nose. Next to her Dean leaned back against the counter with his own plate of food balanced in one hand, fork in other and clearly chewing on a mouthful loudly.

"What is it?"

"Chipotle Salad's what they call it little further east." Celia lightly crossed her arms over her chest.

"It doesn't look like a salad," Jen grumbled.

"It's not a real salad, it's rice, ground beef and chipotle spices," Dean muttered before filling his mouth again.

"Picked up the recipe in... where? New Mexico?" Celia asked, looking back toward Sam.

"Wheeler, Arizona, I thought," Sam corrected. "A ghost light hunt, right?"

"Yeah, turned out to be poltergeist. Attached to the goddamn section of track the poor bastard died on." Celia shrugged. "Nasty son of a bitch, too."

Jen tentatively slipped a forkful of beef and rice into her mouth and blinked at the spicy flavor. Spurred on after she took a second bite the other Rangers started on their own plates. Even Eric dug in. It was quickly and quietly absolved that Dean hadn't been shooting his mouth off.

Celia could cook.

"Come on, that guy wasn't nearly as bad as those changelings Sam and I dealt with a couple months ago in Cicero, Indiana suburbanite Hell. Or that Native curse we dealt with in Sapulpa, Oklahoma suburbanite Hell…or that demon fed coven in suburbanite Hell…I hate the suburbs." Dean muttered.

"Dean you are totally forgetting the Hell I lived through with the Trickster at the Mystery Spot in Florida. Time loop, stuck in Tuesday for a hundred and eighty seven days," Sam explained at the Rangers confused looks. "That sucked."

"Hey, I almost got sacrificed to a pagan god-- also in Indiana. And you were hunted by hillbilly freaks in Minnesota," Dean countered. "And Celia was going to be used for some hoodoo rite in Georgia... "

"How about when we took on the undead Edward Gein in Wisconsin," Sam returned. "And that guy practically crucified you."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, flexing his hand, where a scar still discolored the skin of his palm from being literally nailed to a wall. "That was a pretty sucky job."

_"Edward Gein?"_ Trip sputtered, "that's the guy they based _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre _on!"

Wes blinked. "Why, Trip... I had no idea you were into horror flicks," he mused.

"More like into weird facts about everything," Lucas said.

"He's right though," Dean put in, flexing his hand, where a scar still discolored the skin of his palm from being literally nailed to a wall. "That was a pretty sucky job. But was still a zombie. Don't get me started on the gods."

Wes choked a little and looked up from his food. "'Gods'?"

"Oh yeah. Lets see, that scarecrow was a pagan god in Burkitsville that they sacrificed newly weds to, there was the Trickster, also a pagan god that hit us not once but _twice_, and oh-" Dean made a sarcastic smile "-Mr. and Mrs. God last Christmas in Michigan that impersonated Santa Claus to kidnap a parent in front their family and later ate them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah gods, all ya need for them is a wooden stake. Creatures, way worse, there's that survival instinct, like the chupacabra in south Nevada I took five months ago. Thing almost killed Buck." Celia motioned toward the black and tan German Shepherd, the dog let out a small bark.

"What's a chupacabra?" Wes asked, cocking his head to the side before scooping another mouthful of rice and beef into his mouth. The Rangers were barely following the recounts, trying to place names and creatures mentioned.

"Bout the size of a dog, looks like a kangaroo with spikes in its back and sucks blood, livestock mostly but little kids sometimes, too. Southwestern, Mexican and Central American native. Ugly suckers," Dean said.

"So you guys have been through a lot together?" Lucas asked.

"Together and alone, seen thin's ya wouldn't understand or believe. Done thin's ya would figure us criminal for." Celia sighed, she still hadn't taken a plate of food for herself. "All been necessary."

"Probably not-- " Jen retorted.

"Look, Butch, y'all are some kind of cops, no one here respects that more than me. But for us the law is kill or be killed. There ain't arrests... or trials or prisons or rehabilitations. The only thin' standin' between ya and whatever the Hell it is, is a bunch of innocent people that end up dead. Ya have no idea how dangerous and strong these thin's can be," Celia responded, her tone was calm and informative, far from looking for a fight.

"And neither do we half the time," Sam put in before Jen could argue. "I mean we think we've seen everything and the next thing we know we end up in the middle of a fiasco like JFK."

"Oh fuck! _Sam!"_ Dean barked.

"What?!" Sam snapped back.

"Ya know some of us are tryin' to forget that whole thin', Sammy," Celia growled.

"What? What happened?" Wes asked sharply, looking between them.

"It was so stupid!" Dean grumbled. "It was like that Jurassic Park Two movie when the Tyrannosaurus got off the boat and was trotting around San Diego jus eating people. It was like that!"

"I don't under-- "

Wes jumped when Celia cut him off. "Get this, we're all in Connecticut takin' it kind of easy 'cause we just go off a pretty rough job. So we're thinkin' we're goin' to break for a few days-- "

"Bullshit," Dean mumbled.

"And we get this call, and it's not Bobby or Ellen or an old contact, nothin' like that. It's one of the boys from Eli's unit, Jake Cloud."

Eric perked up instantly and turned his full attention from his meal toward them. His eyes flickered with recognition.

"So Jake knows we're Hunters-- his family's in the trade, too --Eli even brought him home once for leave and took him on a job. So he calls us and says 'get yer asses up to the airport now'. He was in the airport in New York. This is one of Eli's buddies and he's comin' home with an injury, he's out of service and he's callin' us for help-- "

"So we haul ass to New York." Dean muttered.

"What happened that Cloud would call you?" Eric asked, caught in mild fascination.

"Some... jackass big game hunter had heard stories about a 'monster' in Greece, so he figures he'd going to go bag the thing. And by some... force of the universe he finds the thing, but instead of just ganking and stuffing the damn thing he tranqs it and puts it on a commercial flight back to the States to star his own personal freak show, tranq runs out, plane lands and the thing gets loose and starts using JFK airport as a buffet," Dean snarled, clearly disgusted.

"What-- ?" Katie was clearly confused.

"It was a manticore." Sam spoke so flatly it was emotionless. "A big... male... manticore."

"Fuckin' ballistic monster, I have never seen such stupidity actually executed in real life, it was like somethin' out of a movie. And ya have to admit by the end of it it was kind of a movie. I mean, picture us three-- " Celia motioned toward herself and the brothers " --these two dressed up in monkey suits lookin' like the goddamn men in black, and Jake Cloud in his camos, and the dogs, movin' in down a hallway with guns drawn. Jumpin' at the smallest sound and every once and a while crossin' bits and pieces of some poor bastard the thin' fed off. It was tearin' apart kids, old ladies, anythin' it could corner waiting for a departure-- "

"Killed that dumb-shit game hunter, thank God," Sam muttered.

"And we killed it, eight hollow points, right? A couple of staff workers convinced the bosses and security that it was a loose dog," Dean said with a chuckle.

"They bought it at least," Celia said, pushing her glasses up and starting on getting some coffee going.

"And I don't fuckin' care where or _when_ ya come from, no _mutant _ya can stick in a fridge is worse than a six foot tall fourteen foot long manticore. I don't even think _we_ could top that, not if we lived to forty... or forty five."

Dean and Sam shrugged their shoulders, then they blinked at the silence and looked around-- the Rangers were staring at them somewhat slack-jawed. Even Eric looked upset about a story concerning a manticore in an enclosed area with a lot of unaware people.

The quiet lingered for a second.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Jen finally said, "Really... I think you'd be surprised the kind of things we deal with."

"Oh really?" Dean perked up, seemingly amused, there was almost a challenge in his tone.

"I'm serious." Jen's eyes met his. "My... _fiance_... he was appointed as the Red Ranger when he was twenty." She fingered the glittering ring as she spoke haltingly: "He served as the only Ranger for... two years. He saw things even _you _might have trouble believing in." Dean snorted a little, but a sharp elbow to the gut from Sam silenced him.

"It's true," Lucas said, "I remember Alex talking about a kind of... prison world, that he was assigned to infiltrate. The mutants had it set up, and they kept people as slaves there. Time Force officers. Civilians. Anyone they could get their hands on. Some of those people had been there... all their lives."

"They got Alex," Jen went on, in a monotone voice. "He was at the prison for almost a week before Time Force sent in a special ops team and got everyone out. He didn't talk about it much... but he told me there were over three hundred prisoners that were rescued that day." She smiled slightly, then blinked a few times and looked away. "It took him a long time to sleep through the night after that... kept waking up with nightmares. But still, he was so happy to have helped those people."

"And it wasn't just Alex," Katie said, "All of us have been through some... pretty weird experiences."

"Yeah," Wes laughed, "Try getting transported fifty million years back in time. And being chased by a T-Rex!" He shook his head. "Manticore? That's definitely something else. But nothing beats a reptile the size of a telephone pole, with teeth as big as your head!"

"You guys went back in time?" Sam said, "What... was it some kind of mission?"

"Not exactly." Jen shot Eric a cold look.

"A piece of my, uh... equipment, as a Ranger, was left in the past," Eric explained, "I had to get it. And Wes decided to tag along. With_out_ an invitation."

"It's a long story," Wes sighed, directing the words at Sam, who was leaning against the wall and watching the team converse while wearing a half-amused, half-fascinated expression on his face.

"Then there was that guy who kidnapped all those kids... " Katie smirked at the memory of the mutant, and his outcome. "His head was like an octopus... and he could take it off!"

"He was a nasty son of a bitch, too," Lucas said, "Almost killed the kids."

"Then there was Jen's old partner, Steelix," Trip added, "He betrayed the Time Force and was sent to prison... but Ransik reanimated him and he came after Jen. He tried to make her turn against us."

"And we're not even getting into everything Ransik has done," Jen said, "But... he killed millions of people. He blew up an entire _planet."_ She shuddered. "Luckily Time Force stopped him before he could use his weapon on Earth... that was his plan. He talks big, but he's never really cared about ruling over anyone, he just wants people to suffer."

"Like he has all his life," Trip said, softly.

Jen glared at him, but Sam was interested. "What'd you mean?" he asked.

"Trip-- " Jen started, her voice holding a warning.

"He wants to know, Jen," Wes stopped her, "They're helping us... they deserve to know who they're fighting." When the Pink Ranger fell silent, he spoke again: "Ransik was the result of a science experiment. There was an accident in the lab and some toxic waste slipped through the cracks, so to speak. He... evolved from that waste."

"People never take kindly to things that are different from them," Katie said, "So all his life... Ransik has been shunned by everyone. All mutants have."

"Eventually he just stopped caring... and started hating." Trip's eyes fell to the floor. "Years later, after organizing the largest group of criminals in the known worlds, and developing the technology... he blew up my planet. Xybria." A small, unsteady smile. "Me and my family survived. Time Force sent in as many people as they could to help evacuate, and Alex pulled me from what was left of my house just as it was all starting."

"Sounds like Alex... was a great guy," Sam said.

"Yeah... he was," Trip whispered.

"That's rough, kid." Dean said suddenly, making the young alien look up at the elder Winchester as he practically scraped his plate clean. "Know how you feel…being a displaced person."

Sam and Celia glanced at each other, not intruding on Dean's small show of empathy. It was getting harder and harder to see that kind of behavior from Dean.

"I'm takin' plates," Celia announced, breaking the suddenly depressing mood and scooping Jen's empty plate from in front of her. She went about collecting dishes and washing them in the sink while Sam distributed coffee and Dean retreated to lying on his bed as the morphine thinned in his blood to uselessness. Once everyone's stomachs were full, coffees were in hand and the dishes finished, a calm settled in; at least until Celia pulled out a small assortment of weapons, sat cross legged on the mattress next to Dean and went about cleaning and oiling guns and the large blades of machetes over a towel. Talk consisted of Wes, Trip and Katie questioning Sam, the younger Winchester far more willing to be honest and informative than his brother. And while Celia was cryptic and sharp tongued, she clearly she was tolerating them more than she had earlier in the day; still, her demeanor made it clear she didn't want to talk to any of them.

Except for Eric. Evidently, Celia liked Eric.

…

Hours later eyes were drooping, heads were nodding and tempers were starting to sour. Celia lightly tapped her thumb across the edge of a sharpened and oiled machete blade before glancing at the digital clock. It took a long second before her deteriorating eyesight adjusted to read the numbers. _Damn near midnight._

"Let's break it up, kids," she sighed. "We need a break from each other and reality."

"What about the vampires?" Trip asked, looking at her nervously.

"Remember how we said that they're predators?" Sam asked, and went on when the young alien nodded.

"They're like a lion pride. Right now they've been hunting, took in a huge kill, I mean eight people in eighteen hours, plus they picked a fight in the middle of the day so we know they weren't bedding down."

"English," Eric grumbled, irritably.

"They're gorged and exhausted. It's extremely unlikely that they'll leave their nest tonight or tomorrow day. As far as they know we're out in fit condition looking for them. They won't risk us tracking them to the nest." Sam sighed. "It's a good chance to try and get some sleep."

"... um... where?" Lucas asked, sarcastically.

"I figure if ya take a dog and one of us. Y'all can go home," Celia responded.

"Sam! We want Sam," Trip said swiftly, then fought back a blush at the looks he got.

"Well, _someone _has a crush," Dean snorted with a smile.

"Ya think ya can stay up all night? Ya've been sleepin' a lot the last couple days gettin' over that fever. Think ya can fight though that concussion?" Celia's voice was tinged with concern.

"Promise me my laptop and coffee and I'll make it. C'mon, Buckshot," Sam said, pushing himself up to get his stuff back together. The five Rangers looked more than happy to wait and-- once Sam's satchel was put together and he'd caught the machete and bag of coffee grounds tossed at him --follow on the younger Winchester and the black and tan Shepherd's heels across the street.

"Guess you get to sleep in a big boy bed tonight, Eric," Dean muttered, pushing himself up to strip down to his boxers and T-shirt and extracting a bowie knife from his gear. He slid it under his pillow. Eric raised his thick eyebrows quizzically.

"Sounds fine to me." Eric fought back and killed a yawn in his throat.

"Move," Dean ordered, shoving Celia gently off the bed. She grumbled and gathered her collection of weapons and cleaning supplies, moving everything bundled in the towel to the table and resettling herself.

"Hey, Celia? You remember sleep? It's calling," Dean chimed, throwing back the comforter and sheets.

"I'm goin' to finish here," she sighed, glancing at him. Dean shrugged and draped himself across the mattress, he tugged pillows into his face and chest before seeming to fall instantly asleep. Eric watched

Dean for a few long seconds, throwing his eyes toward the small cage where his finches hopped from perch to perch quietly.

"Red?"

"Yeah," she responded, without looking at him.

"There something I could change into?" Eric felt somewhat timid and uncomfortable asking for help.

"Um... " Celia looked up at him, poised with a Colt 1911 in her hand. "Try Dean's stuff, the blue gym bag. I figure there's a pair of flannels in there he never uses. And a tee."

Eric carefully moved through the blue bag, finding what Celia had mentioned and rolling them up against his chest. "No chance of getting my own stuff, right?"

"Not really... sorry, kid. Ya can fit into Dean's stuff, he'll lend ya some jeans."

"I can wear my uniform-- "

"Yer clothes are covered in blood, ya don't exactly smell like a rose garden, and ya look like a sniper." Celia couldn't resist a little laugh. "Try the hand-me-downs for a day, all right?"

Eric rolled his eyes and-- grumbling --slipped into the bathroom, showered and dressed in the borrowed clothes. He cast one more look at Celia-- peering through her glasses and moving so slowly and deliberately Eric was half sure she couldn't see what she was doing --before easing into the empty bed and fell asleep petting the albino Shepherd curled up next to him.

…

_**4:36 AM**_

Celia pushed herself up to a sitting position; Dean groaned in his sleep at the loss of contact but didn't rouse himself. She sat on the edge of the mattress for a few seconds, her head hanging a little with sleep still clinging to her, hand gripping the edge of the bed to keep herself still as she leaned heavily over the side.

She grunted suddenly and set her elbows into her knees, she rubbed her face with both hands before forcing herself up to a stand and lifted her arms high over her head in a stretch. She yawned loudly, baring her teeth like a tired lion before slumping again and rubbing her face. Celia was _not _a morning person.

Valentine perked up at her movement and quickly trotted over to the door, waiting impatiently until Celia had puttered her way over and opened the door; outside the rain had picked back up again, but the dog immediately went out. She left the motel's door open slightly, letting in cool, fresh air and leaving enough room for the albino to slip back in when he was ready.

Sniffing and rubbing her nose, Celia shuffled over to the kitchenette. Her eyes were bleary and unseeing, she was moving on ingrained memory than anything else; she pulled open a cupboard and, with a soft clatter, extracted one of the bowls among the small collection of plates, glasses and utensils that the Silver Ring provided for their temporary tenants. She set the red bowl down and, with a little more noise, dug out a spoon and dropped it carelessly into the ceramic. The loud clatter seemed to disturb the sleeping Dean, and once again he let out a moan and rolled over, but remained asleep.

Celia hesitated before reaching higher into the cabinet, still stiff and sore from the past few days; she felt around until she found the small row of cereal boxes they'd bought for supplies. Her hand wrapped around the edges of the each of the boxes and gave each one a little shake. It was as if she was listening to the contents of each box to tell what kind of cereal was inside. Finally, pulled down a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. She filled her bowl and abandoned the box on the counter, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out the gallon of milk and pouring it over her cereal; she lifted her breakfast, turned and shuffled over to sit in the nearest chair at the table. Putting to rest her oddly automated movements, she hunched over her bowl and swirled her spoon around in the contents.

Celia glanced up and jumped in surprise, her fuzzy vision hindering her but not concealing the blurry figure she saw; she reached across the table, felt out her glasses and slipped them on before looking up again and meeting the tired and watchful eyes of Eric. The kid looked like he'd already cleaned himself up, taken a shower and shaved, and was dressed in a pair of Dean's jeans and one of Sam's flannel shirts, buttoned down the front instead of hanging open like the Winchesters preferred to wear. He watched silently from the chair across from her.

Celia grunted and without prompt pushed herself up, leaving her bowl at the table, and turned toward the counter. Eric watched as Celia pulled down a second bowl and dug out another spoon before filling the bowl with her cereal. She carried the bowl and gallon of milk over to the table, stretching and setting the cereal and milk down in front of him before dropping into her seat and starting in on her cereal again. Eric looked down at the bowl and felt his stomach squeeze, he poured milk onto the cereal and after a few turns of the spoon scooped some into his mouth.

After he swallowed, Eric flicked his eyes up to where Celia was starting to look more awake as she ate.

"Thanks," he muttered.

She grunted in return before swallowing her mouthful and sniffing loudly. "I'm surprised ya ain't out runnin' or somethin'."

"I didn't know if it was safe," Eric said, quietly. He looked up when Celia's spoon connected with the side of her bowl. She was looking at him with a seriousness in her eyes and a level of respect he hadn't seen since his days in the military not so long ago.

"See." She lifted her spoon and pointed at him with it. "I knew ya were the smart one just by lookin' at ya. Ya don't let yer habits and yer stubbornness stop ya from considerin' yer own safety and inadvertently ours. I don't care if yer windswept or not, yer brighter than the rest of those kids put together. Least as far as I've seen."

Eric felt his chest expand in a small bubble of pride for the praise before he buried it and returned to his cereal. "What's 'windswept' mean?" he dropped his voice when Dean turned over and muttered something in his sleep. Celia sighed quietly.

"Windswept….windswept…for us back home…is a colt whose mother and herd abandoned him and left him for dead…usually 'cause there's somethin' wrong with him. Disease or deformity or somethin'… medically it's somethin' different, swayed back legs…but for us…" Celia shrugged.

Eric bristled, rethinking the compliment.

"Ya remind me of a windswept colt I once had, kid. Had three legs, born that way. Couldn't even make his hour stand without help, mare wanted nothin' to do with him. He was an awful mess, too. Respiratory problems, underweight from the start, had to tube him to make him eat. Everyone said I should put him down... he was useless anyway, right?"

Eric felt himself bristling more and more, being referred to the deformed colt. "Did you?"

"Nope. He's the best cuttin' horse I ever had, world class level. Couple of his sons could go the distance but they can't move like he could, pivotin' on that one rear." She chuckled quietly. "Beautiful too, palomino appaloosa, icin' on a cake."

"He can do all that with only three legs?" Eric blinked.

"He never let it hold 'im back," Celia said, "It was like... like he wanted to prove everyone wrong. I get that from ya." Again, she pointed the spoon at him. "You've been dealt a bad hand all yer life, haven't ya?  
See... ya don't grow up to be yer kind without havin' one hell of a rough time of it. Still, seems like ya came out okay."

A few minutes of relative silence as they sat and munched on their cereal, then Celia spoke again: "So how long were ya in the service?"

"Not long... a few years." Eric shrugged with one shoulder. "Suited me well enough, but I wasn't sure I wanted to do it for the rest of my life, so I got out before I felt like I had to stay."

"And ya knew Eli?"

"Not really," Eric said, "Just in passing... Jake Cloud, I knew him. We went to boot together."

"Funny how small the world is. Jake Cloud's a good kid, good Hunter, too." She chewed up the last of her cereal, then stood and went about washing it in the sink. "You and Wes... ya old friends? I can tell ya know each other."

"We're not friends... we never have been." Eric rose and came over to stand next to her, passing his bowl into her hands. "I knew him when we were kids... seventeen, at school. He always kind of got on my nerves. Rich kids do that."

Celia snorted. "I know how ya feel."

Eric sighed. "So... you think we stand a chance in this fight?"

"The vamps?" Celia nodded. "We'll get 'em... always do. I don't know much 'bout this Ransik you're dealin' with, but seems to me y'all can handle it. I know ya don't like her much... but that Jen, she knows her shit, she'll keep y'all alive."

"I don't need her to keep me alive."

"Maybe not... but those other guys." Celia glanced in the direction of the Clock Tower across the street. "'Specially that Greenhorn. What is he... _sixteen?"_

"Something like that." Eric shook his head. "Just a fucking kid... I don't know how he even ended up here, or in Time Force."

"From what I've heard, their whole world is pretty screwed up. They probably let ya enlist when yer fourteen!" Celia finished up with the bowls, then started toward the bed where Dean was still sleeping; she took two steps before glass shattered in on them all and burned, mutilated corpse fell at her feet. The shock even got to her, and she let out a startled gasp, jumping back a few feet while Eric rushed forward to put out the flames that were still eating away at the victim's charred flesh. Dean gagged from where he sat on the bed.

"What the... ?" Celia mumbled, cautiously walking to the body.

"There are teeth marks... " Eric swallowed. "On the neck."

"Fuck." Dean brought his hands to his head and rubbed his temples gingerly; outside, Valentine barked wildly.

"It's a warning," Eric said, " ... isn't it?" He looked up at Celia, who stood with her arms folded over her chest, a strained expression on her face. "They want us to know they're coming," Eric continued, "And... that they know we're here."

"This is what we get for sleepin'." Celia snarled.

"It's not safe anymore," Dean said, rising. "We've gotta get the others out of the Tower and-- " his words were silenced in the deafening noise that followed. An explosion. The walls shook, the windows collapsed, Valentine's barks turned into scared whimpering noises. All three people dropped to the ground and lay on their bellies 'til the noises fell silent.

"Sam!" Dean and Celia gasped.

Eric and Celia barely caught up to him as the older Winchester dashed outside, letting loose a string of curses at the sight before them all: At least ten cars, all parked along the sides of the street, now burning away in the early light of the morning. Car alarms were still going off. Two cars had been flipped upside down. Somewhere, a woman could be heard screaming.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted, his voice cracking with relief as his younger brother came racing out of the Clock Tower, followed by the Rangers and Buckshot. The elder Winchester grabbed his brother by the shirt and pulled him sharply around, giving the taller man a quick check over before letting him go. Celia instantly rested a hand on his shoulder, making sure Sam was real and safe.

Valentine rushed up to Buckshot, pinning his ears, whining loudly and licking the larger dog's face.

"You see anything?" Dean demanded, already knowing the answer. He looked shaken, his skin pale. Dean Winchester never did well when it came to fire.

"No... " Sam stared at the destruction with wide eyes looking as unnerved as his brother. "They were hidden, it was too dark. And they were completely silent."

"Shit," Jen whispered, placing her hands on her hips.

"What now?" Katie asked.

No one had an answer. They just stood in silence and watched their world burn around them, helpless to stop it, and helpless to protect themselves any longer.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

…

_**Clock Tower**_

_**4:52 AM**_

Sirens howled and horns blared angrily as the fire trucks sped down the empty streets of Silver Hills, their actions unknown to the sleeping residents of the city, peaceful and comfortable under their blankets and on their beds. From the rooftop of Bio-Lab, a cluster of crows watched with intense curiosity as the flashing lights of the red trucks went by in a blur, within them firefighters dressed in heavy, yellow coats, their faces pale and dark circles lining their eyes. Among them sat a heavy-set, dark haired man known to the rest of them simply as 'Dad', he was slumped against the side of the truck, his eyelids drooping with fatigue, but his heart racing.

When they arrived on the scene, none of them were prepared for what they saw: Cars aflame, some flipped on their roofs, and the oldest building in Silver Hills--the Clock Tower--burning to the ground. A group of twenty or so people had gathered on one side of the street to watch with terrified, confused eyes; the Silver Guardians and the city police were already pushing them away as the firefighters unloaded and headed off to do their job.

"All right, guys, clear the building! Make sure there's no one inside!" the voice belonged to Chief Bobby Mancuso, a veteran of the department at age forty-two. He stood in the middle of the street, his tanned face illuminated by the orange flames shooting into the dark sky; locks of graying black hair fell around his forehead and ears, his deep voice carried itself easily over the roar of the fire and the sounds coming from the crowd. "First squad, clear the top level. Second squad, take the bottom. Third, get to work putting out those cars!"

The youngest of the men, a fresh-faced 20-year-old from Bakersfield, was grabbed by the collar and half-dragged into the dangerous building by 'Dad'; the older man had a calming effect on the others, even those older than him, though nobody could explain why. His gentle but firm nature and ability to remain calm no matter how bad things looked reminded them all of their own fathers, and earned him his affectionate nickname. The boy from the small town readily followed him.

Inside, smoke made it impossible to breathe without their masks on, and damn near impossible to see anything as they struggled to make their way up the long flight of stairs with nearly a hundred pounds of gear weighing them down. Heat radiated from walls that weren't even on fire. The wooden stairs creaked dangerously with each step. The whooshing sounds coming from the firefighter's oxygen masks and the thunder from the fire were deafening.

"Building's clear, Chief. We're coming down." He called over his radio.

Over an hour later, the vehicles had been put out and the building declared a loss. All that was left to do was control the area and make sure no one got hurt… that, and watch a piece of history be destroyed.

"What the hell happened here…" Chief muttered to himself, scratching the stubble on his chin, the lights of the disaster flickering in his eyes.

"Looks like it was some kind of explosion."

"Who would blow up an abandoned clock tower?"

"It's owned by Alan Collins, isn't it? He's gotta have some enemies out there somewhere."

'Dad' shook his head solemnly, images of what he had seen on the top floor flashing before his dark brown eyes -- orange cases full of mysterious weapons, a closet of odd-looking white leather uniforms, a steel cabinet containing something he didn't know. The whole place reminded him of… a kind of command center, someplace a group would gather to make plans, or just a safe haven.

_Not safe anymore. _And suddenly he knew exactly what had happened. He knew why he'd seen five young adults coming in and out of the building from time to time, he knew why they all wore specific colors, and why they were apparently storing dangerous weapons inside their home. He also knew who was responsible for the destruction of the building.

A chill spreading across his back, Jason Scott turned away from the tower and walked back to his truck, silently wondering what happened to the Power Rangers that had lived there, and what sort of danger they were facing. That old feeling was creeping up on him again… the urge to help, to jump into the action and literally save the world. But he knew his days were long past. It was up to others now.

He just hoped they could handle it.

_**Ransik's Hideout -- The Prison Ship**_

_**4:54 AM**_

"They're finished!" Angelique cried in ecstasy, throwing her hands into the air as she burst into the room, closely followed by Peter and Dixon. Dominique, Dante and Ransik were walking a few feet behind them. The female vampire strutted over to the couch and sprawled across it, flinging her legs over the edge and dangling them contentedly; Peter let the lust he felt inside show in his eyes as he surveyed her long, lean legs, exposed to him from beneath the loose-fitting miniskirt she was wearing.

"'Finished'?" Dante shook his head. "You forget… the Rangers and Hunter survived. We destroyed their home, not them. Didn't even kill one of those stupid dogs."

"Without their home, they'll crumble." Angelique rolled her eyes. "You worry too much."

Dominique hissed at her, a low warning. "Mind yourself. What do you know of these matters anyway?"

"I think she's got a point," Peter piped in, "We did good tonight! We took away the only thing they had… the only place they could go to get away from us."

Ransik stalked over to his daughter, who sat curled up in her fluffy pink bathrobe, a scowl written plainly on her face; placing a hand on the back of her chair, he spoke: "We made an… advancement tonight. We are one step closer to breaking them. But don't let that get to your heads."

"Haven't you learned _anything?" _Dominique snapped, "Underestimating our enemies has only brought us trouble. We've lost family behaving like that." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Now pull you heads out of your asses and focus on what lies ahead of us. When night falls… we attack."

Ransik nodded to acknowledge to vampire leader, and agree with him. "And we finish what has been started," he concluded.

"Then what?" Dixon demanded. "We control the city until the military gets sent in and wipes us all out? We eat 'til we're full then move on? Or do you take over?" He looked directly at Ransik.

"Total domination is a dream," Ransik said, "One that can never come true. There will always be more humans to fight… and eventually, we will be defeated. But we can make them suffer until then."

"Who's to say we can't control this city?" Dante snapped, "Other vampires have done it!"

"What's the use in controlling an empty city?" Ransik questioned. "You may rule, but you have no one to rule over."

Dominique stepped up, unease written plainly all over his dark features. "I think you're getting our mission confused, Ransik," he said carefully, "When we decided to work together… we agreed to take over the city. Not to play around with it 'til it's no fun anymore and then move on to God-knows-what-else."

"We will take over the city," Ransik assured him, shooting icicles through his eyes and into Dominique. "And if you and your 'pack' wish to stay in a ghost town and pretend you are royalty, you are more than welcome to do so. I will not rest until _all _of mankind has paid! Not just the people of Silver Hills!" He took one step closer to Dominique, so they were merely inches from each other; the mutant towered over the vampire. "If you don't like how I deal with things… then you go do it yourself. See how far you get with that demon of yours."

Dominique wanted to respond, the muscles in his jaw were twitching and his face had become a deep shade of red, flushed with anger. But he had been around far too long, been the head of the family far too long, to not know when enough was enough and when everything that could be said _had _been said. "For now," he spoke, "you all should get some rest." He clasped his hand on Dante's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before turning on his booted heel and walking away, not giving Ransik another glance.

Ransik went to his daughter and kissed the top of her head, then walked outside; the sun still had another hour before it was going to rise, but already the sky was beginning to light up. He could easily make out the different shapes and sizes of the billowing clouds above, crowding around the moon and blocking its white light. The same moon he gazed upon… or _would _gaze upon one thousand years in the future. He remembered the first time he stood underneath it and wished he could follow it away, far away from the cold, terrifying streets of the city he had been forced into… in space nobody would care what kind of beginning you had, whether you were a mutant or a human. Not so on Earth.

He reached up with one gloved hand to touched the mask he wore to disguise his grossly disfigured face, it had been that deformity that had scared away nearly everyone he had ever met, even long before he harbored any hatred toward anyone else. Children cried, women screamed, men attacked him… even in such an advanced age, where human lived alongside alien, there was still no room for mutants. A fact Ransik was beginning to accept… 'til he met Alice. The only person to show him kindness in his young life, she made him forget about the outside world for a few all-too-brief months, until she died giving birth to his child.

"Daddy?"

Nadira resembled her mother in looks, though not in character, and Ransik couldn't help but glimpse a vision of the woman he had loved whenever he looked at her; her pale skin, wide eyes, and clearly-cut jaw line, all belonged to her mother. Certainly not him.

"Yes, Nadira?" he questioned, not turning around to face her.

"You should get some sleep… you have a busy night ahead of you." Nadira stepped up beside him, a sly smirk lining her face.

"I will, my Princess." Ransik touched her face gently, smiling, allowing himself to show her his vulnerability… his love for her. "Why don't you go have a little fun today? You've had to be awfully quiet this past week, with everything that's been going on."

"Oh, Daddy!" Nadira squealed, "A shopping trip!?"

"Anything you desire."

She squeaked and jumped excitedly, then stood on tiptoe and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek before dashing back inside the ship, giggling all the way; Ransik chuckled to himself, shaking his head and giving the moon one last wistful glance before deciding to go inside. Nadira was right, he _did_ have a busy night ahead of him…

_**Chowder's Restaurant**_

_**7:32 AM**_

The Winchester brothers and the Rangers looked up as Celia and Eric walked passed patrons and tables to the large, somewhat secluded corner booth where they sat, picking unenthusiastically at their breakfasts.

"Not my favorite dump ever," Celia muttered when she stood in front of the table, she shook her head once to scatter the rain clinging to her hair and the bandana tied around her horns and hairline. She sighed and tucked her hand deep into her jeans pockets. "I feel sorry for the nurse that pulls back that curtain soon."

"You left him in a hospital?" Jen asked, her eyebrows lifting.

"Personally I would have dumped it in the ocean but the bleeding heart over here talked me into the risk." Celia motioned towards Eric. The Quantum Ranger lifted a hand to brush water off his short hair. A glance out the window, the rain was still pelting the city.

"Where do we go?" Trip asked suddenly, he looked a little dazed, exhausted and small huddled in one of

Dean's T-shirts. He was hugging himself and pulled his eyes away from the platter of scrambled eggs in front of him. "Our home…it's gone." He looked haunted; the sound of fire engines seemed to be echoing in his mind, he was still twitching. Katie gently wrapped an arm around him but couldn't help the depressing turn.

"We don't have anywhere to go," the Yellow Ranger muttered, "None of us." She looked pointedly at Sam, Dean, Celia and Eric.

"My dad is gonna be pissed," Wes said, quietly. But it was obvious he wasn't preoccupied with the thought of his father's wrath, more with the memories of fleeing from a burning building just barely in time to keep his life.

The Winchesters and Celia recognized the look of hopelessness. Victimization made physical in their eyes.

They saw it all too often. The three Hunters sighed and looked between each other, silently communicating for a split second before breaking off.

"What do we do?" Katie repeated her earlier question.

"Well, first off we stop playin' a defensive game, I'm sick of this shit," Celia growled.

"I like the sound of that," Jen said. She stood in the corner, slightly away from the table, watching her team protectively.

"I want to know where this nest is," Celia went on.

"How do we find it?" Lucas asked.

"You have to track 'em to it." Dean sighed. "Problem is it's hard enough to track 'em in a small town, forget a city this size."

"They're technically 'creatures', but they don't have a set pattern like a species would," Sam intruded.

"It's hard to narrow it down to general areas. We can try and use the kills like land marks--"

"Will you stop referring to those people as 'kills'?" Jen spat, startling the younger Winchester.

"Sorry…" Sam muttered. "But it's true, that's the way they function. They're claiming this as a territory. Everything they've done so far has been to establish that."

"What do you mean?" Wes asked.

"Trying to kill you guys off, leaving mutilated corpses out for the authorities to find, using bodies as boundary markers, making a statement this morning, directly to us--" Sam motioned toward himself, his brother and Celia. "It's the mark of a pack claiming territory and the fastest way to do that is to dominate, kill or drive off other predators. Challengers. I'm gonna have to say that this is mostly our fault; they wouldn't feel so hard pressed to take immediate control if we weren't around. And it's twice as bad because of Red." He motioned toward the redhead still standing next to Eric.

"It is?" Eric questioned.

"Demons are at the top of the food chain. If ya were a terrier and all the sudden a Rottweiler moved in next door how would ya feel?" Celia shrugged her shoulders, not denying her role and unintentional impact.

"Thing is, we're doing the same thing that they are, difference is we aren't using the general public as markers." Dean sighed and sipped his coffee.

"All right, so they're animals…basically…how does that help?" Jen was obviously frustrated with the situation.

And Celia could empathize; a young woman desperate to keep her friends safe, suddenly facing overwhelming odds. _An' just when she thought it couldn't get any worse… _Not voicing her thoughts, Celia let her eyes drift away from Jen and to Sam as he spoke.

"It helps a lot if you think about the way animals act. But there's also that factor we have to consider-- that they're intelligent animals, and unstable."

"Unstable?" Wes' brows knitted together, confused.

"You guys said that you figure they're working with Ransik, right? Well, that's not exactly strict to code for vampires," Dean explained. "Vampires never work with 'outsiders', non-vamps or even vampires that aren't a part of their pack. To them, packs are like family, they're loyal to each other and no one else. So that's a sign of desperation; they feel like they've bitten off more than they can chew trying to take the whole city, so they call for reinforcements. But their reinforcement is Ransik, who you said was never interested in control, just his whole Death Star deal. So here we've got your classic internal clash, they're probably fighting each other as much as they are trying to fight us. It's screwing up their systems."

"Like today," Celia said. "That whole display was reckless…and a sign of de-evolution. Things are startin' to collapse internally. The pack is spiralin' back to what it knows, Ransik or not. Makes 'em real dangerous, and us short on time."

The Rangers looked between the three Hunters.

"You three would make great profilers." Wes stirred his coffee slightly.

"Know your prey," Jen said, more to herself than anyone else.

"Know your prey," Sam agreed.

"It gives us something to work with; they're falling into 'natural' habits. Pack habits that fill their necessities. And one of those is 'protect the pack'," Dean continued.

"Like Dean said, they consider themselves some kind of 'family'," Celia spat the word like a curse. "And they'll do their best to protect it to the bitter end; usually ya can really get 'em flustered by breakin' up the mated pair."

"Mated pair?" Jen asked.

"The two alphas of a pack are typically a mated pair, opposite or same sex doesn't matter, they mate for life and they'd kill to protect their mate." Celia continued. "But we don't have a mated pair, we've got twins."

"Might be some major kinkiness going on there," Dean quirked, "To break the pack we need one of those twins. We don't know where to find them and it could take days to search out a nest that could keep moving, so we need to lure them out, to lure them out we need part of the pack, a twin, and to get a twin we need the nest and it keeps goin' on and on like that until we vomit."

"So we're kind of stuck," Lucas muttered.

"On the vampire front? Yeah." Sam let a small grin slip across his lips.

"But we have another front we can snake." Celia snorted slyly.

"Snake?" Jen wondered aloud.

"When one stud cuts out another herd's mare and plans to keep her it's call 'snakin'," Celia explained, suddenly looking just a little sheepish. "Sorry… rancher speak."

"What's Ransik's biggest weakness?" Sam asked.

The Rangers glanced at each other, unnerved by the focused and cold look in the three Hunters' eyes.

"His daughter. Nadira. He always steps in and sends her home when things get serious," Jen explained cautiously.

"What're her habits?" Dean asked.

"She…she's into high end stuff, cleans out jewelry and designer stores," Wes continued. "It's erratic though, mostly it seems like it's out of pure boredom. She doesn't really seem to have much ambition, she just wants pretty things."

"She's a snotty little brat," Lucas snapped, clearly irritated by the conversation.

The three Hunters flicked their eyes to each other.

"Did you tap that?" Dean asked, grinning.

Lucas choked on his orange juice and snarled. "NO!"

Dean shrugged.

"When was the last time she was active?" Sam asked.

The question startled the Rangers, realization hit them hard.

"It's been almost a week and half," Katie said. "Ransik has probably been making her stay quiet ever since the vamps showed up, he's protective like that."

"So we're primed for a breakdown, aren't we? After what happened this morning it's clear they want it rough, but they picked the wrong Hunters to fuck with." Dean gave a small crooked grin. "Ready for a heifer rope, Celia?"

"Hell yes." Celia grinned, showing a set of teeth that were more wolf than human, and very unsettling to the Rangers who were watching her. "Ya sound annoyed by this bitch," Celia spoke to Lucas. "Feelin's might be mutual. C'mon." She reached out and grabbed a fist full of Lucas' shirt, hauled him unceremoniously from his food and seat and practically threw him toward the door. Jen lurched in her seat, almost lunging at Celia, but didn't make it all the way up when Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

"Get your hands off me," Jen snarled, ripping herself away from Dean. "Where the hell is she taking Lucas? He's my responsibility; I have a right to know."

Celia snorted at the woman, glanced at Dean. "Ya'll want the dogs?"

"Please." Sam nodded.

"I'll let 'em in the Impala." Celia shrugged a shoulder and switched her attention to Eric. "Come along young Padawan, much to learn ya still have." She turned and started for the door. Eric couldn't help the small smirk that passed over his face as he started after her.

"Yes, Master Kenobi," he quipped back, dryly.

Celia glared at him with a smile. "Ya little bitch, ya did not just call yerself Anakin Skywalker."

Eric shook his head and they slipped out the door into the rain and toward the parked Silverado.

"Wait, I thought I was Anakin Skywalker." Dean looked at Sam.

The younger Winchester fixed Dean with a flat look. "Dude, please. _Everyone_ knows you're Han Solo."

Dean smiled slyly. "Oh yeah."

"What's going on?" Jen demanded, irritably. Her eyes were still locked on Celia through the glass windows of the small restaurant.

"We'll draw Ransik out with his daughter," Sam said, simply, "When Ransik comes… hopefully so will the vamps."

"Will you… hurt her?" Trip asked, worriedly.

"Does it matter?" Dean questioned, "Sounds like she's a bad bitch to me. No better than Ransik or any of them." He sipped his steaming coffee and thanked the young waitress that had set it in front of him a moment ago.

Trip looked startled by the lack of emotion in Dean's words and face. He pressed a little closer to Katie.

"She's bad," Jen conceded, "But she hasn't really harmed anyone. She just wants her toys, never really cared about hurting people or taking control of anything."

"We won't hurt her… if we can get away with it," Sam said, Dean grunted audibly. Sam continued. "But Ransik doesn't have to know that. As far as he's concerned, we're willing to torture and kill her."

"So 'til then… what do we do?" Katie asked.

"Head out to the border and wait for the call." Dean waved their waitress over. "We're going to put some room between us and the city, no more explosive overkill." He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, slipping out a credit card and handed it to the waitress with a charming smile.

"Be right back, Mr. Colbert," the pretty blonde said happily and trotted away.

The Rangers turned their eyes to Dean, who grinned wryly back, slipping a toothpick between his teeth.

_**Ashton Street and 34th**_

_**Shopping District**_

_**3:45 PM**_

"He asleep?" Celia asked.

Eric twisted in his shotgun seat and looked back at the Blue Ranger crushed against the door and drooling slightly. "Like the dead." Eric sighed, relaxing for the first time since that morning. Being staked out in the Silverado for almost nine hours wasn't the best way to spend your time, especially since the small level of comfort Eric had developed with Celia was intruded on by Lucas.

"Kids today, no stamina," Celia grumbled.

Eric let out his breath again and slumped back further against the passenger seat before reaching out and unscrewing the cap from his bottle of water and taking a few sips. He listened to the light rain falling against the windows and body of the truck. Would it ever stop raining? Seemed fitting enough, he supposed, there had been a lot of funerals in Silver Hills lately…

Celia eased back in her seat, hiked up a boot and settled it on the dash board. She reached over and flicked on the radio, clicking through her set of programmed nothing-but-country stations.

"Hey wait. Go back, would you?" Eric asked.

"Montgomery Gentry, huh?" Celia asked with a small smile and sipped her own bottle of water.

Eric just shrugged and silently mouthed along the words of the song, looking out the rain streaked window. Celia watched him for a few seconds before she grinned and sang out loud, forcing a smile on Eric's face as he hesitantly joined in.

"_That's something to be proud of, that's a life you can hang your hat on. That's a chin held high as the tears fall down, gut sucked in, a chest stuck out. Like a small town flag a-flyin', or a newborn baby cryin', in the arms of the woman that you love… that's something to be proud of." _The two of them sang along with the chorus softly.

"Ain't it the truth of life," Celia murmured.

Eric grunted in agreement, and Celia's red eyes rolled.

"Well, if ya ain't a cowboy stuck in a city boy's hide," she sniffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, yer quiet… ya don't bullshit 'round and ya don't take any, ya enlisted and did yer bit then got out, ya got a high work ethic, ya expect nothin' less of the people 'round ya, ya like country music, yer good with animals and every time I mention horses ya perk up and pay real close attention."

Eric cast his eyes out of the window again and didn't speak. Celia softened slightly.

"What's the matter?" she asked calmly. "Some mare break yer heart?"

"No."

"Not much of a ridin' sort?"

"Never got the chance," Eric replied coldly. There was no "pity me" in his statement, just a simple fact.

Celia chewed the inside of her cheek for a second. "I'll teach ya if ya want to learn."

Eric's eyes twitched over and locked on her, his tone was guarded as he spoke. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not? I like ya. Wouldn't be a waste of time, I figure." Celia shrugged.

Eric nodded quietly, chewing on his lip and thinking about the conversation they'd had earlier over cereal.

"Could we…"

Celia looked out of the corner of her eye at him.

"Could we do cutting, if you do teach me?" Eric asked stiffly, feeling uncomfortable again asking her for something. Asking anyone for anything.

Celia grinned and nodded. "Sure, we can do cuttin'."

"_All units, all units! Hostage situation at the Gold and Silver Boutique. Ashton and 32nd. Caucasian female, pink hair, believed to be one of Ransik's mutants, armed and dangerous. All available units respond."_

The CB radio crackled and hissed with the dispatch order.

"That's our cue, let's beat five-oh there, shall we?" Celia grinned. She twisted the key and the high-powered engine of the Silverado roared to life as Lucas jumped awake, cracking his head against the window and yelping in pain.

"What's going on?" he muttered, rubbing his skull.

"Call came in." Celia said over her shoulder.

"Celia," Eric said, "If you want to get there before everyone else--" he gestured to the sleepy-eyed teenager in the back "--he's your best chance."

Celia set her jaw. "He doesn't even look old enough to have a license."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "I'm a fucking race car driver in the year three thousand," he said, exasperated. "I think I can handle your Tonka Toy!" He climbed over the seat and pushed Celia aside, smiling ear-to-ear as he positioned himself behind the wheel and gripped the shifter. "Where we going?"

"'Tinker Toy'?" Celia snarled. "This is an outfitted, forty two thousand dollar customized Silverado."

Lucas rolled his eyes.

"Ashton and 32nd," Eric replied, then turned to a flustered Celia: "Relax."

He was a little surprised when the growl rattling in her throat settled.

As if to cancel out every word, Lucas threw the truck into reverse and did a backwards 180 onto the street, squealing the tires and yelping with joy; hardly stopping at all, he tossed it in drive and took off down the road.

"Hey hey hey, slow down, it's only a couple blocks over."

"I can drive." Lucas growled back, swinging the massive work truck around a slower driver and gunned it. The bear under the hood roared.

"Yeah…like my brother." Celia growled under her breath.

"What's the plan?" he asked, casually, keeping his focus on the blacktop ahead of him but his grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

Celia shook her head, fighting down the nervousness in the pit of her stomach as she watched a kid handle her truck like he was born to drive. "Lure her out, take out any robot-- or whatever they're called --leave one to run home and all that, but get the bitch in the middle of the street. Clear of civilians, I'll take care of the rest."

Lucas shifted in his seat, unsure of what exactly was going to take place. The Blue Ranger's tension continued to mount until the two streets had passed and he screeched to a stop in front of the small shop, the whole trip had taken only a minute or two, and sirens could be heard in the distance but no cars were on site.

"Go to work, boys." Celia smirked.

Eric and Lucas practically threw themselves out of the Silverado, morphing as they went. Celia casually stepped out of the truck and walked around toward the bed, jingling the keys in her hand.

"Nadira!" Lucas barked at the top of his lungs, halting at the shattered glass door, Eric a step behind.

The mutant's head snapped up, sharp eyes narrowed and she flashed a dangerous grin.

"Well, it seems like the Rangers have decided to stop licking their wounds and come out to try and play. "

She snarled, her voice dripping with sweetened poison. "Wasn't what Daddy did to you enough?"

"Drop the merchandise and back away from the civilians!" Eric ordered.

Nadira's face scrunched and she purposefully dropped the handful of necklaces to the floor and shoved the salesperson in her other hand, the man fell and instantly curled up in a defensive position.

"Straight to business, hmm? Fine!" Nadira spat dangerously and marched toward the two Rangers, a small group of cyclobots on her heels.

The street rocked slightly and Celia instantly straightened in the truck bed, tensing, a hand sliding around to the Desert Eagle tucked against her lower back. They were following a design, a plan, but she wouldn't risk the kids' lives to follow a design. Nadira needed to be alive for the moment but Celia would kill her if the need came.

Eric and Lucas rolled across the asphalt, scrambling back to their feet in a frenzied hurry.

Seeing the two Rangers up, Celia turned back to the toolbox, clicking open the lock and swinging the lid up, she dug around and found a pair of leather work gloves and slipped them over her hands.

Eric did a front snap kick that smashed into the face of one of the cyclobots, snapping its head back sharply, a loud pop rang out and the robot fell to its knees, limp; Lucas swung his leg around in a windmill-like motion, the side of his foot connecting with the cheek of his opponent and spinning it around. Swiftly, he dove to the ground and swung his leg out and around, taking the bot's legs out from under it and sending it crashing to the ground.

Eric and Lucas swiftly took out half of the cyclobots, scattering bits and pieces of machine and clockwork all over the street. Eric's eyes flashed around behind the helmet, locking on Nadira skipping down the street with her arms and neck heavy with stolen goods. Growling, Eric easily disposed of one more cyclobot and then kicked another in the back, then sprinted forward, cutting her off and forcing her to a dead stop.

Nadira snarled and backed up a step.

"You're under arrest, Nadira," Eric sneered, crowding her. The woman backed up, instinct to get away from a larger and dangerous male.

"I'll agree when the door shuts and the locks close," Nadira quipped back and lashed out drawing and firing a laser rapidly. Eric tucked, rolling into a forward somersault and skidding out of the way. He regained his feet and danced backward; he felt a little satisfaction when Nadira followed. A short whistle through the air made him twitch his eyes toward the Silverado. Celia lifted a hand and waved him forward, making it clear that she wanted him and Nadira closer.

"All right," he muttered under his breath and glanced toward Lucas, struggling a bit with the cyclobots. Eric's hand flew to the holster at his hip and extracted the Quantum Defender. Eric leveled the weapon and fired off sharp and lethal shots, dropping robots rapidly.

"Lucas!" Eric barked at the now freed up Ranger. Lucas' head snapped around, watching as Eric continued to back up, luring Nadira further into the open cement. The Blue Ranger dashed around, downing another cyclobot and rushing up behind Nadira. He grabbed her arm, wrenching the elbow and shoulder joint. She snarled in pain, dropping her laser, and lashed out at Lucas. The Blue Ranger held on and swung the mutant around, letting go of her suddenly and slinging her unceremoniously into the open asphalt near the intersection.

"Good," Celia muttered and reached into the toolbox, extracting a heavy, work shovel. The standard, long

wood handle sanded and polished, the blade of the head sharpened for cutting through packed earth. The tool was well maintained and cleaned carefully to shake off any leftover cemetery dirt from the last grave dig.

"All right." She shut the toolbox, walked back to the tailgate and dropped to the earth and with a small yawn, then stalked around toward Lucas, Eric, Nadira and a couple lingering cyclobots. Her gloved hand slid along the handle to a place where the wood was worn and shaped with use. She made a slight signal with her free hand, Eric and Lucas caught the movement and attacked Nadira ruthlessly, forcing her to keep all her attention on them. Celia's casual walk dropped into a deathly silent and predatory stalk, sliding around and behind the combat.

Nadira was frustrated with the two Rangers practically dancing in and out of her reach, neither outright attacking her but neither letting up. Abruptly, she lost her cool and turned ugly. Years of hard training from her warrior father, and her mutant instincts took over; the air-headed princess disappeared. Breaking off any banter, she lunged at Lucas and Eric, striking both violently with a semi-mortal force of pure energy.

Gasping in pain and startled by the normally placid woman's ferocity, the two young men slammed into the asphalt, gasping in pain and favoring bruised if not cracked ribs. They choked for air and tried to get back to their feet, but found difficulty just to focus their vision and get over the dizziness and nausea churning in their guts. Eric and Lucas rolled over to sitting positions and watched Nadira through their coughing fits.

"That will teach you to interrupt my shopping!" Nadira spat, her eyes sparkling with glee.

A light whistle cut through the air and Nadira's attention ripped away from the two Rangers, she twisted halfway around and felt her eyes widen.

Celia's face was totally emotionless, her double handed grip tightened midway through the handle of the shovel and she swung it forward with every molecule of human and demonic strength she had. The back of the blade slammed into the side of Nadira's face and head. Letting out an angry and pained cry, she fell to the ground as Lucas and Eric scrambled back up, shock washing over them for a second at the viciousness of the blow. Blood bubbled from the cut on the side of Nadira's pale face.

"See, y'all need to ditch those pop guns and head down to the hardware store. They got these there." Celia twitched the shovel in her hand.

"You _bitch!" _Nadira screamed.

Celia let a huff of a laugh and a slight grin cross her face. "Well, yer still awake. Looks like I need to improve my swing."

The mutant shot her hand forward in much the same way Ransik often did, the same kind of beam shot out from her palm and hit Celia in her left shoulder; her entire arm tensed and then went limp, and she dropped the shovel and crashed hard to the asphalt, rolling away defensively. Eric snapped the Quantum Defender out of its holster at his hip and leveled Nadira with a shot, making sure to hit a non-lethal spot, but one that would disable her nonetheless and sending the princess unconscious.

"Fucking mutants," he sighed, holstering the weapon while extending a hand to help Celia up.

Celia took it, grunting. "Thanks… and yeah. I'll stick with ghosts an' shit from now on, this place is a pain in my ass." With a sigh she casually rolled Nadira over, roughly stripped her of the stolen jewelry and-- with a little bit of a struggle --hauled her dead weight up onto her good shoulder and walked toward the Silverado, shovel in hand.

"Hurry up now, boys!" she called over her shoulder.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

…

_**Ransik's Hideout- The Prison Ship**_

_**4:25 PM**_

The sounds coming from inside the prison ship were violent, animalistic; a loud, dangerous scream startled the animals who lived in the forest that surrounded the city of Silver Hills, and they took off running or flying away. Birds shrieked in fear, flapping their wings as they jumped from their treetops; a young coyote growled nervously at the ship for a moment before deciding to go the other way. No one wanted to be near the ship that night, or the ranting mutant leader within its walls.

"Ransik--"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, VAMPIRE!!" The mutant leader screamed at the top of his lungs.

The metal actually rattled around them, the floor vibrating under their feet. He was panicky, sweating and hurting himself in his violent thrashing around the small area. The robot Frax and the mutant Gluto nervously stayed out of his way, afraid of being caught in the same crossfire that several cyclobots had already met. His temper was well beyond control or containment, and it was just getting worse and worse... mostly because every time he hit something with his injured arm the small group of vampires actually grinned.

Or laughed quietly to themselves.

"Oh, I'm not going to tell you to calm down." Dominique couldn't help the smile that graced his face, he drawled on in his French accent. "In fact, I think you're acting rather appropriately considering your little girl is now at the mercy of two very vicious Hunters, who are well known for having short tempers and big imaginations. And a demon. If she's lucky they'll just kill her out right, if not, well…it sure won't be pretty."

Ransik lunged at the dominant twin, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him violently against the wall. Dominique barked in pain and snarled, baring his vampire teeth at the mutant. Ransik snarled back.

Dante launched forward and roughly shoved the mutant back and away from his brother, catching an elbow to the face as Ransik fought back against the movement; Dante's face twisted dangerously in defense of his older twin, snarling and looking much like a rabid monster.

Even in his rage Ransik backed off at the protective aggression expressed by the twin.

"That was uncalled for," Dominique growled, his voice raspy and broken by Ransik's grip.

"'Uncalled for'?" Ransik spat, "Are you _mad? _What is uncalled for you… is you and your kind taking pleasure in imagining what is happening to my daughter right now!" He stuck his hand out, one finger extended and pointing at Dominique menacingly. "One more word… and you're dead."

A smile crossed Dixon's mouth before it faded back into his solemn face and he licked his teeth. "You're all assuming they'll just slaughter her like Hunters do."

"You don't think so?" Angelique chirped, one hand toying with her white blonde hair.

"Hunters are murderers, Dixon," Peter snapped, the teenagers eyes going cold. "They kill without hesitation. They slaughtered your daughter, remember? And my sire and sister. And all of Angelique's family. They're _monsters_. They don't have souls."

"And demons are worse," Dante spat, his eyes flickering with experience.

"You're all forgetting that they're babysitting… those sweet, innocent Rangers--" Dixon taunted darkly "--won't let them lay a hand on her."

Ransik seemed to calm slightly, but only for a moment, and then a shadow crossed over his face and his voice deepened with worry. "You're wrong," he whispered, "the Pink Ranger… she's been pushed too far. She'll do things the others won't approve of, but she won't care."

"I was about to say… that is of course if they haven't snapped because we turned their nest into a roman candle," Dixon continued, "all humans have a breaking point where they go from curiously annoying fodder to savage, murdering animals." The flicker in Dixon's eye blazed slightly, exposing his true nature for a split second before it buried again under the cold demeanor.

"Anyway, if you want the parts back to bury you have to go get them. They won't even bargain her smoldering corpse back to you," Dixon finished coldly. Ransik launched himself at the back of Dixon's head where the vampire was sitting on the couch.

"Control yourself, Ransik." Dominique swiftly stepped between the mutant and his target, making the larger man balk.

Dominique's tone was quiet and calming, coaxing and soothing Ransik out of his rage. "Ransik, we can track your girl. A mutant's scent is very different than a human. And it'll be easy to track the demon, too.

No doubt they're baiting us and there will be a trap. We're already two steps ahead. Control your temper and we'll go get your little girl back and make sure we have some of our own weight to throw around."

Ransik paused.

"If she dies," he hissed, "you _all _die."

…

_**Desert territory **_

_**Forty miles outside of Silver Hills**_

_**7:34 PM**_

The coyote crept closer toward the sound of a mouse rustling in the scrub brush, his large ears perked forward and bright yellow eyes catching the light and reflecting it. The coyote's paws tucked up under his belly, he waited for a heartbeat before launching at the small sounds in front of him.

The animal yelped and rolled in surprise when the otherwise silent evening of the desert was shattered by the rhythmic thumping and chattered lyrics of music. Spooked, the coyote stood stiff, ears twitching and eyes flashing around, curiosity bubbled at the human voice and the animal scurried swiftly toward the sound. Pressing close to the ground, the canine slid along as the noise got louder and louder until it drowned out the natural sounds of the desert.

The coyote crept over a small ridge and poised, looking down at the odd sight of what seemed like a small

human party clustered around three vehicles. The coyote cocked his head slightly and sniffed, catching the faint scent of food, and boldly crept forward, hoping to scavenge some garbage.

A thunderous bark stopped the coyote's heart and the smaller canine whirled and tore away from the huge white dog that lunged at it from the side. Ears pinned and snarling over his shoulder at the monster the coyote broke for safety and freedom, the snarling dog snapping at his tail and haunches.

A sharp whistle cut over the music.

The albino shepherd stopped dead in his tracks, bristling and baring his teeth after the fleeing coyote.

"C'mon, Valentine!" the sharp male voice called him back. Slightly disgruntled, the dog turned and trotted

back down toward the group.

"Leave him alone, he's got enough troubles," Eric growled good naturedly at the German Shepherd and patted the dog heavily on his shoulder when he was close enough. Valentine seemed to grunt and slunk off to sit in the shade of the tailgate with Buckshot, streaking his snowy fur with mud. Eric sighed and looked up toward the looming cloudy sky, dark storm clouds churned threateningly over them, but for the moment the rain was holding off. Eric sighed again and looked around. Katie and Lucas were standing a little ways off having a small conversation. The other three had made themselves comfortable on the truck, Jen pulled her legs up to her chest and crossed her arms around her knees, eyes darting around the area, wide and alert. Dean, Sam and Celia were nowhere in sight. The Silverado's front cab doors were swung open, battery running and the sound of old country poured out of the stereo systems, settling jangling nerves.

Eric let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and pulled open the cooler lid, digging into the ice and extracting a beer, then let the lid drop. He muscled the cap off and sipped the alcohol before deciding to go find a Winchester or the redhead to talk to. _Hell of a lot better than hanging around with these guys, _he thought, glancing back at the Rangers.

Eric walked around Wes' parked motorcycle to the truck where Wes, Trip and Jen were perched, the boys' legs dangling over the edge of the tailgate. The Rangers watched him walk by but didn't speak to the Quantum Ranger. Eric continued around the side of the truck, pausing to look at a large dent in the side of the bed, trying to figure out what could have made the mark before forgetting about it all together and moving on toward the front end and the scent of nicotine. He stopped a few feet short at the sound of the Winchester's and Celia's voices speaking, he listened intently over tune and lyrics.

"…running low on time here, Dean," Sam said quietly, his voice tense.

"I know, all right?" Dean snapped, "I know. But maybe it's going to have to be like the old man said. I made the deal, maybe I've gotta lie down in the bed I made."

"Dean--" Celia started to growl.

"Look, Celia. Sam's alive, that's what matters, all right? If I have to die for that, then so be it."

"Damn it, Dean, stop martyring yourself!" Sam snarled. "Did you honestly think for one second when you were making that deal that I wanted you to die for me!?"

"You weren't wanting _anything, _Sam," Dean growled back, "You were DEAD. Stone cold with a big hole in your back, remember?"

"If you had thought about it for one second, you would've known it was stupid."

"I did what I had to do!"

"No! You did what you wanted to do!" Sam nearly shouted, but caught himself in time and kept his voice low. "You weren't thinking of anyone but yourself… especially not me!"

Eric twitched at the sound of Sam's boots slamming into the earth and then fading as he stormed away. There was a loud sigh and a string of curses.

"Dean, it's not right," Celia said after a second. "How could ya make that deal?"

"You know how… Sam was dead, M'amin."

Eric's brain clouded with confusion.

"He was dead because I didn't get there fast enough. I couldn't live with that."

"First of all, Jake killed Sam and Azazel was stringin' Jake along. What happened wasn't yer fault," Celia insisted. "And yeah, ya couldn't live without yer baby brother but did ya ever stop and think what it's goin' to be like for him when yer time's up? How the Hell did ya see it fit to drop on him that same fate that fell on ya? It nearly killed ya when ya found out yer dad…" her voice trailed off.

"Sam'll be fine," Dean argued back, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Celia.

"How the Hell do ya figure?"

"He'll have you."

"Dean--"

Eric tensed at the sound of Dean walking toward him, the Ranger stepped fluidly back into motion. He nodded slightly as he passed the elder Winchester.

"Red over there?" Eric asked casually.

Dean grunted and kept walking.

The Quantum Ranger cast a look over his shoulder before stepping toward Celia, his dark eyes flicked sideways to light over Nadira's unconscious form sprawled on the rear passenger seat. The gash in the side of her head had stopped bleeding at least, but she still looked like she'd been mauled, her shoulder was heavily bandaged. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the mutant. She had only ever seemed to care about jewels and money, not pain and destruction like her father.

The redheaded woman glanced up as he approached, a cigarette was set between her teeth and she looked somewhere between distraught and pissed.

"Shouldn't smoke those things," Eric muttered, swaying his stance to stand in front of Celia. The bottle of Lager settled loosely between his fingers. His eyes darted to her hand when she pulled the cigarette from her lips, there was an unmistakable desire in his eyes.

Celia sighed quietly and held the half smoked cigarette out toward him. Eric breathe heavily, eyeing the offer and drawing in the scent of tobacco.

"I haven't since I was fifteen," he said. Celia started to draw the cigarette back but stopped when Eric leaned forward and reached, lightly taking the stick from her hand and set it between his lips, inhaling the drug and exhaling through his nose.

"Since I met you three I've been breaking a lot of personal rules," Eric spoke, making no move to return the cigarette, twitching it between his fingers. He offered her his beer in trade but Celia lifted her own before taking a drag of the alcohol.

"When ya start breakin' them is when ya know ya've made too many for yerself," Celia advised quietly. "A few cardinals ya never touch is all ya need, everythin' else is free game. My father taught me that."

"Sounds like a wise man." Eric tapped the cigarette and puffed it once more before handing it back.

A second of silence lingered.

"Ya heard."

It wasn't a question. Eric steadied himself. "What happened?" He knew she couldn't dance around this one. Couldn't tell him it was 'nothing' when the words involved were 'Sam was dead' and 'I have to die for that'.

Celia sighed and chewed her lower lip. "Nine months ago, this guy named Jake severed Sammy's spine with a buck knife. He died in five minutes…while Dean held onto him. For three days Dean panicked and rotted inside… couldn't bring himself to bury Sammy, either. Holed up in a broken down place with his corpse and an old friend of ours-- Bobby --he was tryin' to stay close, make sure Dean didn't do anythin' stupid, second he turned his back Dean ran to a crossroads and summoned a demon. And he struck a deal."

"His life for Sam's," Eric concluded.

"Not exactly." Celia shook her head, gritting her teeth. "Usually when ya make deals with that sister ya get a fair amount of time before they collect. Ten years typically. But Dean… he's been a Hunter all his life, done too much damage to their side for them to let 'im get away with a deal like that. He bargained right down to a year. Deal's up in three months…and we can't find a way to break it."

Eric stood for a second, mulling over a few long minutes.

"No leads at all?" he asked.

"Well… there's this one demon that we've gotten a bit of an idea that she might be the one to go for. Name's Lilith but she's hard to pin down, she possesses little girls and we can't decapitate every eight year old we cross. Sammy wants to ask the peacock pack back there about usin' future and forward thinking', maybe even goin' back in time to change the deal. Dean's been in denial for six months, just figured out that he doesn't want to go to the Pit. And I'm just so nervous that I might think 'bout talkin' to the Chieftain."

"Who's the Chieftain?"

"A horse god I've tangled with all my life. Sam and Dean, too. He can be real helpful and compassionate but he's…violent."

Eric nodded, wondering if now that he was aware if he would ever cross an actual god.

"Never believed in gods before," he said, softly.

"Oh, they exist all right." Celia took a puff from the cigarette and looked distantly off toward the horizon. Looking east, Eric followed her gaze, he could almost feel the homesickness dripping off her. "Who knows if the One does or not."

"Can you go home?" Eric asked, for the first in a very long time actually trying to lighten the mood.

"Hell yes and I'm ready. The boys, too." She flicked her blood colored eyes to him for a second. "Ya should come with us."

Eric froze with his Lager poised toward his lips. "What?"

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Celia and Eric twisted toward the noise. She dropped the cigarette and ground it under with her boot and led Eric toward the tailgate and other Rangers and the brothers.

"What?" Celia asked, irritably.

"Dogs are growling," Sam said and motioned toward the snarling and bristling Buckshot and Valentine.

Celia reached up and stripped off her bandana before vaulting up to squeeze between Wes and Jen, she walked to climb up onto the top of the Silverado cab. She stood to her full height and looked around the desert area as cool air washed across the land.

"Anything?" Sam called up to Celia's now thirteen foot tall vantage point.

Celia seemed to smell the air, drawing in sharp and deep breaths.

"Somethin's comin'," she called back down, sliding down to open the toolbox and extract her favorite 50 AE Desert Eagle. She ejected the clip, tapped it against the stock then slid it back into place before reaching for a knife left soaking in the small bucket of dead man's blood. Sam and Dean looked between each other and headed for the Impala trunk, keys in Dean's hand.

"Vamps?" Jen asked.

"Most likely," Celia replied, "And don't think for a second they don't know we're tryin' to bait 'em. We've just gotta be smarter. Y'all gather up any supplies ya managed to save from the Tower, this is gonna be a Hell of a fight."

"Come on, Wes," Jen said, hopping down from the truck and heading over to the Impala, where Sam and Dean were bent over the trunk. The tension between the brothers was evident, though neither Ranger knew what was going on.

"I'm heading out," Sam said, slinging a backpack over his shoulders.

"Where're you going?" Dean demanded.

"We can't just sit here and wait for them to show up," Sam said, "I'll go out, get a look at them, see how many they sent and how far away they are. Then I'll come back."

"I don't want you going alone."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think I can handle a simple recon."

"Jen--" the Pink Ranger's eyes focused on Dean when he said her name "--you mind going along with Sam? I mean, you know anything about being stealthy?" He smirked. "'Cuz those costumes of yours aren't gonna cut it."

Not hesitating, Jen nodded, turning around and ripping off her black jacket, tossing it to Wes before stripping herself of the hot pink, long-sleeved shirt she was wearing; the three men blinked in surprise, she was standing before them in nothing but a mini-skirt and a black bra, oblivious to their attention. Jen grabbed the jacket back from Wes, buttoning it up.

"Let's go," she said.

Dean chuckled to himself before punching Sam's shoulder, not at all lightly, and warning: "Be careful." Then he turned back to the trunk and started rummaging through the layers of clothes and weapons, he grasped the handle of a bright orange box and handed it to Wes. "That's definitely _not _mine."

"No," Wes laughed, "That's definitely _mine." _

Dean watched the Red Ranger as he popped open the box, then pressed a button, causing five motorcycles to materialize no more than 10 feet away from the two of them; each was a different primary color, clearly assigned to each Ranger. Dean blinked. "Not bad."

"Trip built them," Wes said, then laughed at Dean's surprised glance. "I know, right? Kid's a freakin' genius."

Dean shook his head, snatching a 12-inch blade from the trunk and fastening it to his built. "So Trip's a genius, Lucas is a race car driver, Katie's got the strength, and Jen's a super soldier… what do you bring to the team?"

Wes shrugged. "My DNA," he said, weakly.

Dean raised his eyebrows, confused.

"They're all from the future," Wes explained, "I'm not. Before they ever came here, Alex-- Jen's fiancé --was the Red Ranger, and the morphed was locked to him. To his DNA." He hesitated. "It's weird… but I'm, uh, identical to Alex. We have the same DNA, by some weird twist of fate."

"So you've got the same face as Jen's dead fiancé?" Dean said, incredulously. "Ouch."

"Yeah…" Wes looked back toward the path Sam and Jen had taken. "It bothers her… it would bother anyone. But the way she lost Alex… she never even had a second to mourn him, just had to get right back into the job and go after Ransik."

"And see you everyday," Dean added.

"A constant reminder of what she lost… she says she's getting over it now, that it doesn't upset her so much anymore. She sees me instead of him." Wes didn't look convinced. "But I'm not so sure."

"She still wears her ring," Dean commented.

"In her mind, she's still engaged."

Dean checked the chamber to the M-16 he had pulled out, then popped a fully-loaded magazine in it and slammed the bolt forward, positioning the a round directly at the mouth of the barrel, ready to be fired whenever the trigger was squeezed.

"What's that?" Wes asked, changing the subject.

"M-16...assault rifle," Dean explained, "Military issue but you can buy them easily enough. Sammy wanted to get an M4, basically the same thing but with a shorter barrel and a collapsible buttstock."

"Why didn't you get it?"

"Shit aim, it's not as accurate as this baby. Not for long distance anyway." Dean handed Wes the weapon, he held it like it was an alien object. "Not much of a gun-nut, are you?"

"Not really…" Wes said, "I was rarely the one handling the guns if I was around them, those belonged to the bodyguards." He rolled his eyes.

"'Bodyguards'? Damn…your dad must be hot shit, huh?"

"If by 'hot shit' you mean 'rich as fuck'… then yeah." Wes examined the rifle for a moment, his blue eyes crossing down the sleek, black body of the weapon, pausing over the trigger and then traveling up the barrel. "I always kind of had an interest… just never got to learn. What kind of round does this thing shoot?"

"5.56mm… maximum range of thirty-six hundred meters. Shoots in semi-automatic and single-shot modes--" Dean grinned "--but it's easy enough to make it fully-automatic, if you've got the know-how." He took the rifle back, cleared it of any rounds, and then popped out two pins and took apart the lower and upper assemblies. Quickly and efficiently, he stripped it down and pointed out the trigger assembly to Wes, who was enraptured. "See this? It's called a sear… shave it down a little bit to get rid of that nick there, and your weapon will be automatic. Otherwise you can only shoot three rounds at a time, or just one."

"That easy?" Wes looked surprised.

"It's the military, everything's easy," Dean answered, "Of course, once you've shaved it down like that, you're stuck. You'll have to get a whole new sear if you ever wanna go back to single shot. And replacing all that shit? _Pain in the ass."_

"Dean!" Celia called, "y'all ready?"

"Yeah." Dean grabbed another knife, and then a handgun, and slammed the glossy black trunk shut. "Hope you enjoyed this little lesson," he said, "Now it's time to get to work."

Wes kept in step with the older man as they walked back to the truck. "How do you know all this?"

"Been Hunting all my life," Dean replied, easily, "And my dad was in the Marine Corps."

"So was mine."

Dean nearly burst out laughing. "Never would've thought that…from jarhead to multi-millionaire! Guess he hasn't done so bad for himself." He handed Celia a knife as he passed her, then hopped into the bed of the truck. "Wonder if their paths ever crossed. Was he a grunt?"

"A what?"

Celia chuckled. "A grunt… infantryman. Combat arms."

"Oh… yeah. He was in Vietnam when he was nineteen, back in 1970."

"Your _dad?" _Eric said, obviously shocked.

"Didn't you ever wonder why he's such a hard ass?" Wes said, his lips curling into a smirk. "Before I knew about it all, I used to just think it was because he was so old, he was in his late-thirties by the time I came along and I thought that was crazy," he laughed as he said that. "Now…sometimes I'm surprised he didn't make me refer to him by rank growing up!"

"How long've they been gone?" Celia questioned Dean, suddenly.

Dean glanced at his watch. "No more than ten minutes, probably be a little longer before they see anything, depending on how fast they're moving."

"Knowin' Sammy? Probably ran two miles already," Celia sighed, running her finger along the glistening blade of the knife she held. "I'm gonna go check on our friend, see if she's woken up yet."

"Probably been fakin' this whole time," Dean remarked.

As he spoke, an angry-- and terrified --screech came from the cab of the truck, and the whole vehicle rocked as the mutant princess awoke to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings. Unfamiliar… and dangerous. Nadira hissed at her captors, the nails of her fingers extending to fine points as Celia opened the truck door and glared in at her; she was chained to the seats, unable to move, to defend herself.

"Looks like Sleepin' Beauty's awake all right," Celia said.

Dean came over to stand beside her. "Nothin' personal, sweetheart," he said to Nadira, "But we've gotten sick of this cat and mouse game we've been playing since getting here. It's time to finish it."

"You're all dead!" Nadira screeched, "So dead you don't even know it!"

"We'll see about that," Wes said, standing behind Dean and Celia and shooting icicles into the mutant with his clear, blue eyes. "But if I were you… I wouldn't be so sure." He flashed a white-toothed smile, an action that seemed to infuriate Nadira even further.

"Daddy's on his way, hope he's got my knife…" Celia said, more to her allies than her prisoner. "I reckon we shouldn't make it look like we've given his little princess _too _hard of a time, probably just piss 'im off even more an' that'll make 'im real dangerous." She slammed the door shut as Nadira screamed. "She can stay in there… for now. If she starts tearin' up my truck the bitch is dead."

"What should we do?" Wes asked, "'til they show up, I mean."

"Set up a perimeter," Eric advised, "Keep the best fighters closer to where the action's gonna be… the best shots further away." He shrugged, as if making a suggestion on what to have for lunch instead of how to plan a battle.

"Sounds good to me," Celia agreed, "Which means Dean, you stay far out. You got those blood-soaked bullets, right?"

"Duh." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Great." Celia paused, then explained to the Rangers: "Dead man's blood is like poison to leeches, makes 'em real sick, helpless."

"I soaked all my rounds in blood," Dean said, "That way, when I snipe one of 'em, they're down for the count. Who else is a good shot?"

"We all are," Katie spoke up, confidently.

"Even with these old things?" Celia questioned, tapping the Desert Eagle on her belt.

"Time Force trains us pretty well," Lucas said, "We got training on all kinds of weapons… even ancient ones. Trip is probably the best shot here, but he's a better fighter than me and Katie, too."

"I can shoot," Wes volunteered, then amended: "I mean… I never learned much about the guns, but I did learn how to shoot them. Dad always said I was pretty good."

"Awesome." Dean tossed him the M-16. "It's easy, just line up your target with the sights, and pull the trigger. Remember-- squeeze it nice 'n slow, don't yank it back."

"Kid, I know yer a good shot," Celia said, "But yer too good of a fighter to lose, so yer stayin' down here."

"Works for me," Eric replied, responding to the nickname without hesitation.

"All right," Dean said, "Wes, you take up position up there--" he pointed toward an outcropping about a hundred meters out "--don't shoot unless you're sure you can hit the target. Once we start firing they're going to spook. You guys say you're all good shots, so Lucas I want you to set up over there. Katie, they could use your strength down here." Dean reached onto the bed of the truck and snatched the .243 Winchester laying there, then handed it to the Blue Ranger. "Same thing, aim and shoot."

"Be careful," Lucas said to the Yellow Ranger, tapping her shoulder before walking away briskly.

"Ya be careful with my rifle." Celia called after him, Lucas made a dismissive wave of his hand. Celia growled. "That boy's got alpha thoughts in his head since he drove my truck."

"I'll be in the Southwest corner, up there--" Dean waited 'til Celia acknowledged him, then took off, slinging a rifle around his back.

"Now we wait," Celia said, settling herself against the truck and staring down at her watch, the muscles in her jaw twitching nervously and a hand lighting on the stock of the Desert Eagle and blood soaked buck knife. "Sam should be comin' up on 'em anytime now…"

…

"So… you and your brother," Jen said, quietly, "You've really been hunting all your lives?" She raced from one scrub bush or boulder to the next, staying behind cover as often as possible while still scanning for movement in the dead night.

"Just about," Sam said, equally quiet. "I mean, Dad didn't have us hunting poltergeists before we could walk or anything like that… Dean's first kill wasn't 'til he was sixteen. Mine when I was thirteen." He hesitated, reflecting for a moment on his childhood. "Wasn't really much of a choice, I guess. Our mom was killed by a demon when I was six months old, my dad was determined to find out who-- or what --did it. I can't blame him."

"Most people could," Jen said.

"Don't get me wrong… I did," Sam amended, "For a long time. I wanted a normal life, and I didn't care what it took to get one." He ran a hand through his thick hair. "Hard to believe I was ever that stupid, you know?"

"Doesn't sound stupid to me."

"It was. I learned that."

"… What happened?"

Sam grimaced, reaching up to grasp the limb of a large, scrub tree as he hoisted himself up, trying to gain a better vantage point of the rolling desert. "My girlfriend… Jessica. She was killed by the same thing that killed my mom."

"I'm sorry."

"It was over three years ago," Sam said, "Sometimes it feels like less… but it's gotten easier." He looked at her pointedly. "It will get easier."

"It will once that bastard Ransik is rotting in a prison cell," Jen said, firmly.

Sam sighed in frustration. There was nothing to be seen. He slid down the tree as he spoke again: "Can't say I blame you… but you've really got it out for him, don't you?"

"You could say that," Jen admitted. "Ransik… he took away the only person I'd ever really loved. I always got along okay with my family, but not like… Alex and I had something special. Something that doesn't just come along everyday, you know?" She shivered. The desert was always cold at night. "We dated for almost four years before he proposed, he didn't want to make any promises he couldn't keep, and he knew that making a commitment like that when Ransik was on the loose would be a mistake." She smiled, sadness and bitterness in her eyes. "We waited too long."

"Ransik killed him… right in front of you?"

"He died in my arms."

Sam flinched, then swallowed. The action seemed like it took a lot of effort from him. "I know how that feels," he said, softly, "I was going to bed and… I felt something fall on my face. It was blood. When I opened my eyes, Jess was… she was on the ceiling. She didn't die 'til the flames burst around her."

"Sounds awful."

"It was." Sam sighed. "What you went through… it must've been hard. It must _still _be hard. I think… if Alex were alive, he'd be proud of you."

Jen's eyes were suspiciously wet as Sam finished speaking, but she shook it off, refocusing on their mission. "Let's go," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "We've got a lot of ground left to cover."

…

Jen silently made her way up the slippery dirt ledge and crouched there, her keen eyes peering out over the desert; it was an act of sheer discipline that controlled her breathing as she watched the pack of vampires of mutants make their way across the land, her nerves were on edge, and she had just traveled five miles. Running most of the way.

On the ground below, Ransik led the group of mutants, vampires and robots. In one hand, he held a giant sword, his grip on it deadly; bitterly, Jen recognized it as the same sword he had cut down Alex with. Just a step behind him, the twin vampires walked, every now and then pausing a moment as if to smell for something in the air, or touch the ground. A few feet behind the designated leaders, Gluto and Frax and the rest of the vampires followed. Even further behind, a cluster of cyclobots marched along, completely unaware of what was happening.

Behind her, Sam's radio crackled as he tried to reach his brother: "Dean? Dean, it's Sam, can you hear me?"

A moment passed, then…

"_Yeah, I'm here. What's up?"_

"We spotted them. About five miles out, coming from the North."

"_How many?"_

"Five vamps… at least twenty-five cyclobots, and four mutants, including Ransik."

"Make that three mutants," Jen corrected him, "That last one is Frax, a robot." She shook her head. "I don't recognize the other one though, Ransik probably got him out of the X-Vault before coming here."

"Correction-- three mutants, one robot," Sam spoke into the radio.

"_We're ready for 'em. You guys make your way back here."_

"We're coming." Sam turned the radio off, then looked back at Jen as she made her way down to him. "You ready to do this?"

"Are you kidding?" Jen said with a smile. "I've been waiting to do this a long time."

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey, been a while. This was on hold until the coauthor, Sierra, was settled in her base in Iraq. Now that we're back in communication we've been working on wrapping this up and there's talk of a sequel! Whoot! Anyway here's the next chapter. **

**-Mary**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**… ... ... ...**

_**Desert Territory**_

_**Thirty-five miles outside of Silver Hills, California **_

_**8:33 PM**_

Jen and Sam were perched on a ledge, staring down at the pack of mutants and vampires, calculating the odds that were stacked against them; but their presence was unknown to the group as they made their way across the dangerous desert. Ransik remained at the front, his grip on his sword so tight his bruised knuckles were white, his teeth were grinding with every step, and each breath sounded like a snarl. He looked around suspiciously, trying to see into the dark night, trying to spot something--- anything ---that would tell him the Rangers were nearby.

But the tracking was left up to the vampires walking behind him. Dominique remained two steps to his left, Dante three to his right; both moved slowly and deliberately, their eyes wide, nostrils flared, hands open and relaxed at their sides. Angelique and Dixon seemed far less interested in the hunt, along for the ride--- for the thrill of the kill ---more than anything else; a fleeting smile crossed Angelique's ageless face as she imagined draining the life out of the demon bitch, the moonlight glittered across her white teeth.

A sudden movement in the sky caught Dominique's attention and he stopped abruptly, lashing out with one hand to freeze Ransik in his place; his sharp eyes scanned the hills around them, searching for any signs. There was _something _there. But whatever it was... it was long gone. He grunted, frustrated, then continued walking.

The California desert was an uncomfortable, unforgiving place. The dark sky above hovered over the group in a way that seemed ominous to Angelique as she glanced up to look at the few stars; miles and miles of nothing but an enormous black blanket above her, looking ready to swallow her whole. The sand shifted and crackled beneath their feet, and a gust of wind brought it all flying into their faces and sent an unnerving chill down their spines; Dixon reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then spat on a cactus as he passed by. "Fucking desert," he muttered. A lizard scrambled out from behind the cactus, pausing for a second to watch the strangers pass by, then scurrying off into the dark to find another hole. A few feet away, behind a little bush, a jack-rabbit sat, munching away contentedly on a twig, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Ransik hesitated for a second, looked back at the newest member of the unlikely team--- the mutant was from the X-Vault, his favorite place to draw new soldiers from, and was infamous in the 31st Century for being ruthless, and damn near invincible. If it weren't for a twist of fate and a rare mistake on his part, Jigsaw might have been as feared as Ransik himself.

Now, Jigsaw eyed Ransik and huffed impatiently. "Where are they?" he demaned, "I thought you said these... vampires, could track anything!"

Dante hissed, shooting a glare back at the mutant. "We're going the right way," he insisted, "They're four... maybe five miles out." A small smile. "Of course, you're welcome to go find them yourself." He gestured to the vast desert, the hundreds of miles of unoccupied land that would leave a person stranded and dying in just a day.

Jigsaw sneered. "I'm beginning to think that might be wise," he replied, "We've been out here for hours, and no sign of them!"

"No sign that you can read anyway," Dominique pointed out, sniffing the air. "I've picked up on plenty of signs." He looked back up at the hills. "We were being watched."

"By the Rangers?" Ransik said, incredulously. "Why didn't you say something? We should have gone after them!"

Dominique shrugged. "What does it matter?" he questioned, "They know we're coming... and anyway, they'll all be dead soon. Every last one of them." He leveled Ransik with his gaze. "The demon, those Winchesters... _and _the Pink Ranger. Dead."

Ransik smiled slowly. "She's mine."

Dante's jaw twitched, he bared his fangs in an eerie version of a smile. "Let's move faster... I'm getting hungry."

---

_**8:52 PM**_

Eric twisted the buck knife as he pulled it out of the small bucket of dead man's blood. He wondered internally at the illegality and morbidity of using the blood of a human corpse for anything…much less hunting vampires. He twisted the blade to coil the dangle of blood around the silver.

Sam and Jen had returned only a few minutes ago, breathless and dirt-streaked, and bearing news of their enemy closing in fast; they would be upon them soon, five minutes, maybe even less. His body felt tense, ready for a fight; his senses were more awake than they had been in a long time. His sight was sharp, constantly on the lookout; his ears caught every sound that crossed the never-ending desert; even the scents floating in the air seemed more vivid, almost so that he could taste them.

"Eric, can I talk to you for a second?"

The Quantum Ranger's eyes flashed up to meet Sam's deep blue gaze; next to him Jen stood, a little uneasy, but clearly there for a reason.

"Me?" Eric asked quietly.

"You and Jen." Sam motioned them a little closer together. The tall man sighed, lifted a hand to rub circles in his temple. Sam looked like he was fighting off a migraine. "I'm asking you two because I know you won't hesitate and I know you'll practice a little restraint…" Sam trailed off for a second before taking a deep breath. Eric and Jen remained silent as the young man forced on through the difficult speech. Neither pressed him. They just waited quietly.

"Dean's not here and I could get tied up fast before he has time to get down here…" Sam dug a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver flask, a folded piece of paper and a wood bead rosary. He set the rosary and paper into Eric's hand and the flask in Jen's.

Eric fingered the rosary for a moment, rubbing a bead between his finger and thumb; he looked up at Sam with just his eyes, a skeptical look on his face. Jen gripped the flask while keeping her gaze locked on Sam, confusion in her dark eyes; silently, she waited for him to explain.

Sam ground his teeth and hardened himself, clearing his throat. "If Red goes feral. Holy water---" he motioned toward Jen "---rosary and an exorcism." His wrist flicked at Eric. "Dean and I had a talk with her earlier and she's promised to rein back a little---"

"How can you trust her word?" Jen growled tensely.

Sam's eyebrows lifted a little. "'Cause I trust her with my life... and my brother's. When she says she'll do something, she does it."

Jen scoffed quietly, phantom images of a Celia spinning out of control and attacking her team flashing before her eyes; it didn't seem like that far of a stretch. But Sam instantly lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, a protective gesture; Jen hardened and met his gaze, but felt a spark of unease hit her.

"Jen, you're just going to have to shut it down until we're done here," Sam said, firmly. "The two of you can have a grand time tearing each other apart later, but right now, drop it. _I'm_ asking you for a favor because I can't read these mutants the way you can, all right? Red's word is stronger than bond but she can only control herself... Murphy's Law, things can and will go wrong. Anything can happen here. Including an injury that breaks the trap in her back."

Eric and Jen nodded, sober and solemn.

Sam sighed and continued quietly. "I'm asking you guys because she likes you. Doesn't show it but she does, and respects you both. That makes it easier to snap her out of it. I mean, Dean just has to look at her sideways and she's back on track. I'm just saying if it happens and I can't or Dean can't, can I trust you guys?"

"No doubt," Eric responded instantly, pocketing the rosary and folded paper.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but his face wore the worry and discomfort at the idea of the whole thing. "Pinning her down and screaming _Christo_ in her face should do it, but if it goes further _don't _finish the exorcism." He turned and started back toward the Impala.

"Why?" Jen called back sharply.

"It'll kill her." Sam stopped to look back at them, speaking in a monotone voice. "And I'll kill both of you."

**…**

_**8:59**_

"_You got 'em?"_

Dean's voice whispered across the shell of Sam's ear.

"Yep," the younger Winchester whispered back.

"_Light 'em up."_

Sam turned his eyes toward Celia, he nodded and in unison they flashed on the brights of the Impala and Silverado, flooding the desert and scrub around them in a pool of yellow light.

The mutant leader a hundred yards off snarled and backed up a step, his small force of robots and mutants balking as well; the vampires scattered a little more, naturally startled by the sudden light.

They hissed and prowled in the dimmer light before stalking forward again. Trip shivered slightly at the predatory way that their eyes reflected and flashed in the light like a big cat's; the young alien tried to stay still and calm, like Sam had told him to. He had to look emotionless and relaxed. It was hard... but he was doing his best to make it happen.

Ransik hesitated, unsure for a second how to move forward against the small force of Rangers and Hunters. The two German Shepherds stayed pressed low to the earth, but their eyes were locked on the mutants, robots and vampires. All watching him with harrowed eyes and dead faces. Their were a few missing, probably hiding in ambush or stashing his daughter well away from this spot in the desert. After a second, Sam's lanky frame pushed totally upright from leaning on the Impala and started out at a walk toward Ransik; the boy's face was impassive, cool and collected, his body posture was relaxed.

For a second, Sam hesitated... then motioned behind himself.

"C'mon, Jen," he called quietly.

The brunette pushed off her place on the tailgate and jogged forward to walk at the much taller Winchester's shoulder; she wasn't quite as reserved as Sam, Ransik noted, and even he felt a shiver creep through his body at the cold, dangerous look in her eyes.

They strolled out a few long strides before stopping with about five yards between themselves and Ransik; both stood in wide, steady stances, their hands at their sides, their eyes fixed on Ransik. The mutant leader snarled threateningly.

"We have your sword," Sam said casually. He twitched his hand and Katie lifted the blade from its place leaning against the Silverado tire before she tossed it out into the dirt. "Trade you back for Red's knife, kind of important, it was her dad's."

"Where is my daughter?" Ransik spat dangerously, his shoulders heaving with every angry breath he took.

Sam shrugged one shoulder and tucked his hands into his pocket.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER!?" Ransik roared, lunging a step forward. Sam and Jen instantly stepped back, keeping the even fifteen foot space.

"She ain't sufferin' if that's what yer askin'," Celia called across the dirt.

"Quiet, Red," Sam barked over his shoulder.

Ransik looked pale, he was ripped between fear and rage, his mind whirling with the stories fed to him by the vampires about Hunters and their behavior toward 'cornered prey'. "I want to see my daughter," Ransik's voice was a hoarse whisper, but still held a dangerous, unnerving tone.

Sam grunted, lifting a hand to rub along his jaw and scratch at his ear; he turned slightly toward Jen, the smaller brunette never took her eyes off Ransik. Her hands now rested solidly on her hips.

"What do you think, Butch?" Sam asked, casually adopting Celia's nickname for the Pink Ranger.

Jen's eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened... flashes of Alex laying broken on the roof of the prison played in front of her eyes, his bloody face, tear-filled eyes, the way his voice cracked as he struggled to speak. Her stomach tightened... she wondered if she should give Ransik the privilege of seeing his daughter, he sure as hell didn't deserve it, and she didn't owe him a thing.

"Sure," she said tonelessly.

"Red," Sam called, whistled sharply and made a motion with his hand.

For a second Ransik and Celia met eyes, her blood colored pools flashed dangerously before she stepped away from her place next to Eric; she stalked around the front of the Silverado to the passenger side, then yanked open the door and reached in. Celia pulled Nadira's struggling frame out of the backseat and unceremoniously dropped her.

Ransik flinched at the sickening sound of his daughter slamming into the earth.

Nadira whimpered then snarled at the impact. Before she could scream, Celia's hiking boot planted firmly in her throat and effectively gagged her; in a blur, the redhead drew the .50 AE Desert Eagle, cocked it and aimed the barrel at Nadira's skull. The mutant girl tried to cry out in fear, but Celia held her down firmly.

Ransik lurched forward, parental instinct kicking in and taking the place of the blood-boiling rage that had possessed him a moment ago; the sight of his daughter's pink hair streaked and tangled and her white clothes soaked with blood and dust tore at him in a way he hadn't thought possible. Everything in him screamed to get to his daughter's side and protect her with his life.

"Back off," Jen snapped coldly, freezing the mutant in his place.

"Stay put or she fires," Sam warned.

Briefly, Ransik seemed worried... but then, an ugly twist crossed his mouth. "A gun shot…do you see a single creature here that would even slow down with a bullet wound?"

The vampires paced around behind Ransik, a small string of noise that slipped from them sounded something like a pack of hyenas. In the shadows, Trip turned his head for a second, trying to block out the sights and sounds; even Katie swallowed hard, unnerved to the core.

"A bullet wound? No. But point blank in the head?" Sam lifted a hand and planted a fingertip to the side of his skull, he twisted his hand slightly before stuffing it back in his pocket. "It'll leave a bit of damage, won't it?"

Silently, he prayed that it would. Sam knew that a .50 AE Desert Eagle was a powerful firearm at long range. A dead shot could collapse a man's ribcage and chest at three hundred yards. A shot point blank wouldn't leave much in the ways of a face or a skull. That was for a human, thought. Demons and creatures reacted differently. Hopefully the same wasn't true for mutants.

Ransik's eyes locked hard on the younger Winchester, he bared his teeth and growled in a low tone; Sam didn't even seem to flinch, just stood quietly. Ransik's eyes tore back to Celia's, black flickered into the red, churning for a second before it was gone. The sight sent a twinge of pain up his arm, across his side and a spark of fear in his chest for Nadira's safety.

"What... do you want?" he asked, slowly.

Jen raised one eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "Surrender," she said, easily, "Either that... or your princess dies. I don't care how many bullets it takes, or what we have to do… and I'm sure the Red can find a way to kill her if the normal stuff doesn't float." Jen motioned back at Celia.

"You're out of your mind!" Dante snorted, stepping forward and into the light.

"Shut up!" Ransik snarled, holding out his hand and pressing it to the vampire's chest, hard enough to force him back a step. "This is my business."

"You're damn right it is!" Dante snapped, "I don't give a shit about your 'princess'. We came here to slaughter these... pathetic weaklings, not _surrender _to them!" He pushed Ransik aside and strode forward boldly, his eyes glowing in the lights, his fangs bared. "Kill the bitch for all I care," he hissed. Then, very slowly, a smile began to form on his lips. "You'll all be dead soon anyway."

Sam and Jen exchanged looks, their eyes meeting for a few seconds; and then, right on cue, off in the distance came some kind of thump none of them could recognize, followed by a low groan. "Shit," Sam muttered, even as Katie took off to find out what was going on. Jen watched her go, then turned back around---

"Where's the girl?" she whispered, the color draining from her face.

"What?" Sam's eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"The vamp... the girl," Jen said, quickly, "She was with them earlier, but not now. Damn it! I should've noticed... "

From where she stood with Nadira, Celia overheard their hushed words, and snatched the radio from her hip before anyone could suggest it; she pressed the button, speaking into it quietly: "Dean? Dean, are you there?"

Silence.

"Dean!" she whispered, a little louder, "Answer me, goddamnit."

Crackle. Then... _"Celia?" _

Breathing a sigh of relief, Celia shot Sam a look and a nod, then turned away slightly to answer. "Yeah, Dean... what's goin' on up there?" She looked upward, trying to find the spot Dean was set up at. "Ya havin' any trouble?"

_"Everything looks good."_

"We heard somethin' down here," Celia warned, "Watch yer six."

_"Always--- shit!" _The calm voice abruptly turned into a shout that was heard by everyone, even those not anywhere near the handheld radio; the shout was followed by a booming gunshot, and Sam couldn't restrain the cry that escaped from between his lips as all hell broke loose.

"Dean!"

Frax lunged forward to Ransik's side and raised his arm in one, smooth motion, letting loose a thin laser that whizzed by Jen and Sam and cut into Celia's gun-wielding arm; she gasped as a spasm of pain forced her to drop the gun and made her lose her balance. Nadira, seeing her chance, took advantage of it and started to get to her feet; Celia snarled, baring her teeth didn't show any restraint hauling back and slamming her forearm across the she-mutant's jaw, Nadira slammed against the Silverado with a bark of pain. The metal of the truck twisted and bent under the weight.

But the direct threat was gone, and with it, all the leverage they had against Ransik.

The mutant grasped the sword in his hand even tighter and swung it toward Celia, shooting out a bright beam that whizzed by Sam and Jen and into the Silverado, Celia's frame was thrown back into the dented truck with the impact of the blast, collapsing the side deeper; and again giving Nadira a chance to escape. She leapt to her feet, her legs wobbly, pale and bruised; Celia lunged to grab her, but it was no use, she was already out of reach and running full speed for her father. Eric rushed by Celia in hot pursuit of Nadira, already morphed and drawing his weapon---

The red head snorted, a snarl of rage tearing across her throat as she hugged her pain shocked stomach. Celia whistled sharply, a cutting noise across the fray.

Buckshot and Valentine leapt to their feet and broke into gallops. Valentine sprinted, dashing passed Eric and lunged at Nadira's back. The albino German Shepherd slammed bodily into the mutant princess. The dog's jaws snapped shut on the back of Nadira's knee. Teeth slashed through fabric, muscles and sliced the tendons and sinew, dislocating and destroying the joint. A scream ripped out of Nadira's throat as she bowled over with the dog on her back and her knee wrenching. Valentine carried his weight with the woman, slamming her into the earth before vaulting off and charging towards the first cyclobot within sight.

Buckshot, the larger of the two German Shepherds hurtled between legs and bodies, dashing wildly across the rocky earth. Dark chocolate eyes trained on Ransik.

Nadria writhed, rolled and scrambled to her feet, forcing through the destroyed knee to keep going. Jen snatched the handgun from her hip and pulled it before Nadira could reach her.

"I don't think so," she snapped, firmly, aiming it at the dead center of Nadira's chest. But she could feel the unease that had crept into her body and settled, making itself known; things were going badly, and only going to get worse.

Ransik smirked, taking three broad steps to Sam and easily knocking him out of the way even before the Winchester could raise a hand against him; Ransik grasped Jen's shoulder just as she squeezed the trigger, forcing the shot to go wild and fly up into the dark sky. He gripped her tightly, pinching the nerves and sending a shock of pain down her arm; Jen gritted her teeth, wildly swung her arm at Ransik's head. Her fist smashed into his temple, hurting her more than him; he chuckled, then dug his fist deep into her gut, doubling her over. Too easily, he picked her up and threw her aside; she flew back five feet before slamming into the side of the Impala and crumpling to the ground. Eric jumped in to take her place, tried to get a shot with his Quantum Defender before Ransik could knock it aside; but the mutant was too quick, his leg shot up with speed that seemed unnatural in a figure his size, and his foot caught Eric's wrist at just the right angle. He lost his grip on the weapon and it fell to the dust.

A spinning back kick found its target in Ransik's broad chest, but failed to produce any results save for sending a jolt of pain through Eric's leg; still, he tried again, this time launching a front kick at Ransik's knees, then a sidekick to his head. Finally, Ransik staggered, but only momentarily. He snarled, more annoyance than pain in the sound, and slammed his fist into Eric's jaw; the young man spun around and fell hard to the ground, the sickening sound of his jaw fracturing echoing in his ears. Unrelenting, Ransik kicked his thick boot into Eric's gut, eliciting a cry of pain from between his tightly pressed-together lips.

Buckshot danced between legs and bodies, eyes still locked on Ransik. The dog snarled, flashing teeth and dove in, charging the last few yards, dodging laser fire. Snarling Buckshot ducked right under Ransik's swinging sword. His side slammed into Ransik's shins, paws on the mutant's boots for a spilt second before launching himself straight up. The dog twisted his spine, throwing the full force of his frame into Ransik's chest as his jaws slammed shut on the mutant's throat. The German Shepherd used weight and momentum instead of strength. Buckshot wrenched his jaws to lock on the surprised mutant's throat and let his weight drop. Ransik toppled over, crashing down hard on top of the dog. Buckshot's grip broke, he twisted and rolled free of the mutant and galloped away, leaving deep gashes in the mutant's throat and Ranisk gasping for air as he struggled to his feet.

A shot sounded from somewhere in the hills--- Celia strained her eyes to see, but was unrewarded, the shot came from Wes' position, not Dean's. The shot went wild though, kicking up dirt around Ransik's feet but not causing any damage; instinctively, Ransik swung around and fired his sword in the direction of the attack. The bushes exploded into flames as the blast hit. Eric scrambled up, back on his feet.

Not wasting anymore time, the vampires attacked.

Sam as just getting to his feet when Dante grasped his collar, forcing him up so he could land a vicious punch to Sam's nose; blood spurted from his nostrils and onto Dante's knuckles, but Sam responded with a knee to Dante's groin, and two punches to his lower stomach. The vampire was caught off-guard and stumbled back, and Sam had time to reach for the knife he had stuck in his belt; he jumped forward, slashing 'til the blade slid through Dante's thin shirt and sliced his belly. It was a small cut, but the poison seeped into the vampire's body and instantly weakened him; Sam punched Dante in the cheek--- cracking both his knuckles and the vamp's skin ---then followed up with a forearm to the throat that finally knocked Dante down.

Dominique came to his brother's rescue, lashing out with an angry growl and gripping Sam's neck with just one hand; he lifted the younger Winchester a few inches off the ground, then punched his stomach, knocking the air from Sam's lungs. Dominique dropped him slightly, pulling him to his open mouth, his fangs dripping with saliva---

A gunshot rang out, and a bullet tore through Dominique's chest, mere inches from Sam, who still dangled helplessly from the vampire's grip. Dominique gasped and let go of Sam, then crashed to the ground himself as blood began to seep from the tiny hole in his chest, and gush wildly from the larger hole in his back. Dante cried out, his voice suddenly full of fear and anger, and without even getting up hurried to his twin's side; Sam rubbed his throat gingerly, watching the exchange for a brief moment as Dante pressed his hand to Dominique's wound as his brother lost consciousness from the dead man's blood making its way through his system.

Then, slowly... Dante turned his head to glare at Sam.

**...**

In the darkness of the hills, Dean grasped his radio and whispered words to Celia, assuring her everything was fine and under control; but, he discovered, he spoke far too soon, and in a disorienting flash Angelique was upon him.

"Shit!"

He fired his rifle, but didn't have enough time to aim correctly, and missed completely. They fell together into a cactus, the needles tearing at their clothes and skin, one cutting deep into Dean's arm; he ignored the minor wound and concentrated only on staying alive as Angelique tried to tear him apart. She was, like all vampires, unnaturally strong, and it was struggle just to breathe evenly with her laying on top of him.

Dean dug his hand into the ground and snuck it along his pantleg to find the knife holstered on his belt, he gripped the handle and pulled it out, slashing Angelique's leg on the way; she gasped, punched him in the face in response. His head slammed into the hard ground, and for a second twinkling stars flickered in front of his eyes; he groaned, shook his head and cleared it, then shot his arm up and out, burying the knife into his easiest target--- Angelique's shoulder. This time, she cried out and fell aside.

A rifle firing startled both of them, and Dean spared a glance to the battle raging on below them, just in time to see Ransik whirling around and shooting into the hills, engulfing a small area in orange flames that licked at the bushes and trees. In the haunting lights against the pitch black, Dean thought he saw a figure in red roll away, safe. He hoped his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Angelique swung her leg close to the ground and caught Dean's ankles, knocking him back to the earth; he landed with a thump, and let out an annoyed moan. He reached around to rub his butt tenderly, shooting Angelique an amused look. "That hurt my ass," he muttered, as the vampire struggled to regain her strength.

Dean stood up, leaned down to the grab the machete he had laying next to his rifle, then walked over to Angelique; as always, he felt a slight pang of regret, knowing that once--- perhaps a long time ago ---she had just been an innocent girl, full of dreams and hopes for her future that would never come true. He swallowed, gripped his weapon tighter, and cut off her head.

He tore his eyes from her body and snatched his rifle up, then took off in search of Wes and Lucas; the former he found laying unconscious in a prickly bush, but the Red Ranger recovered after just a moment of Dean shaking him. He was still unsteady as they made their way down the hill and toward the fight, regaining his composure as they went but stumbling on the uneven rocky earth.

The elder Winchester made a beeline for Celia, dodging out of the way as Trip was hurled aside by the mutant Jigsaw. Dean snarled and fired off a shot into the mutant's knee as he blocked the teenager from the threat. Snarling Jigsaw lunged forward and stumbled when Wes slammed bodily into the mutant's side, the pair rolling wildly and thrashing in the dirt.

The elder Winchester slung the assault rifle over his shoulder and hauled Trip to his feet. The teen Ranger stumbled, crashing back to his knees in a daze. Dean's arm wrapped around his waist, hauled him up and forced the teen to jog across the rocky earth towards the Silverado Dean gently eased the boy to the ground by Celia; the redhead was fighting off a couple cyclobots, obviously dying to get into the real fight. She finished off the 'bots easily, stepping back and bracing herself between the older Hunter, Green Ranger and the chaos. Dean pushed back to his feet, catching Celia's eye.

"Watch him!" The elder Winchester barked the order.

Celia snorted and bared her teeth. The red head was still hugging her stomach with an arm and as much as she wanted in the fight one glance at Trip kicked in the protective sibling instinct Dean was banking on. She pulled herself back to Trip's side, shielding and caring for the injured boy; Dean didn't miss the look she gave him as he dashed for the lights, her eyes wide and gleaming, longing for a fight. She squatted next to the teen, gently settling her hands along his throat and jaw, supporting and steadying his head. She spoke softly to Trip and watched his eyes for signs of a concussion. Her attention snapped away when another cyclobot made itself a threat. The red head abandoned the young Ranger's side but stayed within a few feet of him, dismembering the cyclobot in a few swift moves.

Dean joined Eric's side as the Quantum Ranger fought off a few cyclobots and Frax, the Hunter was no match for Ransik's powerful robot, but could hold his own against the 'bots; he snapped his leg out and kicked one in the side of the head, then smashed his fist into the "face" of another. Sparks flew from both as they fell.

Eric back flipped to avoid one of Frax's lasers, then returned fire with his recovered Defender and shot Frax in the midsection; the robot staggered back a few steps, but was able to get off another shot. It caught Eric in his leg, he cried out and nearly fell to his knees, but somehow managed to stay upright; Dean pressed his lips together, tightened his jaw, and swung the butt of his rifle hard, slamming it into Frax's back. It didn't seem to hurt the robot, but it caught his attention and made him lose his balance.

At the same time, Lucas and Katie swept in, running into the light, breathless and filthy after scrambling down the hills. Lucas took on Jigsaw, taking some of the focus off Wes and giving the Red Ranger a few seconds of needed rest and regroup time. Lucas dashed in, striking him with his Chrono Saber to take over the fight, then delivering a fierce kick to the mutant's shoulder, sending him spinning out of control. Katie and Dixon met in a clash, her genetically enhanced strength was equal to his own, but she still struggled as they fought move-for-move.

Celia was on her feet and hovering over Trip as the teen recovered. She disposed of three more cyclobots before even clearing the hood of the heavily-damaged Silverado; she had a strange smile on her face, full of energy and excitement. The knife she held firmly in one hand was worked expertly, only appearing long enough to slash across a cyclobot's neck or bury itself deep inside one's gut.

Trip's recovery was cut short as the teen vampire, Peter, rushed him. The young man and monster met in a flurry of kicks and punches and groans; Peter's inexperience proved his downfall, despite Trip's lesser strength and size. The Green Ranger fought fiercely, firing his handgun into the vampire's side and ignoring the blazing pain that still pounded in his head. Peter fell against the damaged truck, and never saw the strike that killed him as Trip brought down the machete Celia had given him before running off...

A startled cry caught Dean's attention and he whirled around just in time to see Dominique dangling his baby brother in the air, about to sink his fangs into Sam's neck; Dean grabbed the Colt at his hip and brought it up without thinking. He aimed quickly but effectively, and the bullet cut into Dominique's chest, forcing him to let Sam go as he collapsed.

"Dean, look out!"

Dean felt himself being pushed to the ground just as a shot flew over his head. He wasn't surprised to look over his shoulder and see Celia glaring at him. "I told ya to watch yer six!" she snapped, yanking him back up before he even caught his breath.

Dean chuckled, slapped Celia's uninjured shoulder good-naturedly. "I'm still working on that," he said, then spun around to see Dante turn on his brother--- he hissed, baring his fangs, then launched himself at Sam, who barely had time to raise his hands as a defense before they were toppling to the ground, kicking up dust and fighting tooth and nail. Dante clawed at him, the nails on his fingers scratching Sam's cheek so deep they drew blood; Sam struggled to get out from under the vampire, but he wasn't as strong, even though Dante was weak, and he wasn't anywhere near as heavy.

"Sam!"

Jen shouted his name as she ran to the both of them, now morphed into her uniform and back to full strength despite her brief fight with Ransik; she brought her Chrono Saber down across Dante's back, sending sparks raining down on Sam, who closed his eyes and brought up his arms to shield himself. Dante screamed in pain, rolled off Sam, trying in vain to grab his back and ease the agony burning there; Jen didn't hesitate, the blade of her saber flickered in the moonlight as she swung it downward, her aim perfect.

The blade hacked off Dante's head in one smooth slice. It rolled away in the dirt, landing a few inches from Dominique's feet; his ragged breaths shortened even more as he came awake, and then stopped completely when his eyes came to rest on the severed head of his twin brother.

Dean ran up to Jen and Sam, grimacing when he saw Dante. He brought his hand down on Sam's shoulder, his stomach still twisted in a tight knot: "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam assured him, "What happened to you?" He gestured to Dean's bloody arm. "All right?"

"The hot vamp came to visit me," Dean replied, shrugging one shoulder, "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Jen tensed. "Wes? Lucas?"

"They're okay." Dean nodded to where the Red and Blue Rangers were dancing around Jigsaw. "And Celia's got Trip's back. Haven't seen Katie in a while though."

A deafening wail sounded as Dominique finally came to completely and his eyes focused on Dante, Jen and the brothers looked to him, shocked by the animalistic noise that had come from him; Dominique didn't notice them, he was too absorbed by the sight of his brother's head laying at his feet. With trembling hands, he reached out and held Dante's cheeks, gazed into the lifeless eyes through his own bleary, tear-filled stare; his breaths were harsh gasps, short and fast, salty sweat dripped down his face, mixing with his hot tears.

Ransik kicked dirt into the vampire's face as he came to stand beside him.

"Oh fuck... " Dean mumbled, raising his head to look the mutant in the eyes.

Dominique lifted his head, tearing his eyes away from the carcass in order to look at Sam, his eyes full of hatred and grief; for a split second, Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for the vampire, he knew all-too-well how it felt to lose his brother.

"You're _dead,"_ Dominique muttered, rising to his full height and squaring his shoulders. The tears in his eyes sparkled in the dim light. "All of you."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

…

_**Desert Territory**_

_**Thirty-five miles outside of Silver Hills, California**_

_**9:01 PM**_

The air rushed out of Jen's gut and burned through her throat. She inhaled dirt as her face ground into the rocky earth. Dominique's nails slashed into the back of her skull as his fingers tangled into her hair and yanked her head back. It didn't seem enough as the vampire's other hand dug under her jaw, yanked her head back further and twisted to expose her throat. Heat burned across her lower back where Dominique straddled her spine. Pain flared up her backbone, cramping her back muscles, dull and throbbing as Dominique caused her as much pain as he possibly could.

"Suffer…" the vampire rattled into her ear, his breaths were short and uncontrolled, he was hyperventilating.

Agony shot across her neck as her vertebrae twisted and ground together, too low to kill her with a snapped neck, too high to completely paralyze her. Dominique had every intention of breaking her and leaving her to suffer in pain until the whole thing was over and he could return to torture her properly.

Pain exploded over her back and neck and Dominique hissed in rage as the weight was shoved roughly off her back, twisting and pulling the muscles as the vampire was thrown aside. But thankfully her spine remained intact.

Flinching and panting in pain, choking on dirt, the Pink Ranger carefully rolled over to her side; her screaming back connected with denim and solid flesh. Jen flinched, curling up protectively around her core; she twisted as much as she could to look above her, expecting Wes or possibly a Winchester brother. To her surprise . . .

Jen watched Celia's back heave as the redhead tried to breath and growl at the same time; a leg and boot planted firmly on either side of Jen's waist, Celia stood protectively over the Ranger. The knife in her hand twisted and twitched, dripping with dead man's blood.

Noticing the knife, Jen rolled to find Dominique--- the vampire stood a few yards away, a deep diagonal slash crossed his face, bleeding freely. His eyes burned with rage as he glared at Celia, and he didn't seem to notice the wound.

Facing him, unflinching, Celia's body posture was pure predatory, head dropped, back stiff, legs apart.

The vampire hissed, his attention focusing on her alone. His face was wrinkled in an ugly mask of rage and despair; Jen watched him closely, torn between feelings of hatred for the evil monster in front of her, and an irrational sympathy. To lose someone and have it throw you over the edge, into insanity... it was a pain she couldn't wish on anyone. Not even someone like him.

Celia returned the look, drawing her lips back and crinkling her nose to twist her face in a warning snarl, more animal than human. A low rattling growl echoed in her throat, her blood-colored eyes flickered dangerously with flecks of black.

The vampire and redhead postured, flashing teeth and making inhuman noises. Dominique prowled, Celia stayed immobile in her spot over Jen. Her teeth were bared like a dog's, and her hands were twisted and curled more like claws than anything human.

Jen watched as Dominique stalked back and forth a few feet away; she didn't want to take her eyes from the vampire but her sight swept around anyway, she'd lost track of the Winchesters and the rest of her team. She twisted, her back rubbing against Celia's leg, but this time the Pink Ranger didn't flinch; Jen felt oddly safe in the redhead's shadow, guarded and secure. She breathed and tried to force through the pain rushing through her strained neck, turned to try and find the Rangers and the Winchester brothers.

Wes and Lucas were still struggling with Jigsaw, and the Red Ranger was looking about ready to collapse; Katie had Dixon pinned but no way to dispose of the vampire as he writhed under her, helpless to defend himself any longer. Eric's pace was unsteady, stumbling and stiff as he stayed a few steps ahead of Frax and Gluto; his awkward movements were a telltale sign that the Quantum Ranger was in severe pain and moving on adrenaline and survival instinct. Trip had his back against the passenger door of the flaming Silverado, fighting off cyclobots; his back up, the two German Shepherds.

But the Winchester brothers and Ransik still evaded her sight. She tried to look around, flinching as pain shot through her spine; all she wanted was to collapse and curl up, wait for the pain to subside, but a shadow crossed her vision and she was sharply reminded of the immediate threat of Dominique.

Jen shook her head to try and clear it, but succeeded only in sending more pain dancing across her fuzzy brain; she didn't like the way she felt sluggish and the jumpy way that her thoughts crowded then left her altogether. She didn't like that she felt like Celia could protect her.

"Concussion…" Jen flinched at the slurred way the word came out.

The growl over her head intensified and dropped to a new pitch.

Celia focused on the vampire, baring her teeth but staying still instead of stalking the other predator, unwilling to leave Jen's side while she tried to recover. The redhead watched, half feral, for a weakness, something--- _anything ---_she could use; she thought the dead man's blood would slow the lead vampire down.

Not so much.

Dominique was driven with grief and the insanity that his twin had carried so well; he could no longer feel the pain of his injuries, or even the weakness in his system from the dead man's blood coursing through his veins. But his attention was foggy and focused too deeply, he miss-stepped, stumbling down to one knee.

Celia took her chance. She lunged forward and collided with the vampire before the male's balance was back. All training, tactic and strategy went out the window as the redhead dove for the vampire's throat; the pair rolled and slashed, tearing at each other like a pair of rabid wolves, snarls, hisses and high-pitched shrieks cut through the desert air. For a half second the bone rattling noise commanded all attention. The fact of the fight described the noise better than any metaphor. It literally sounded like a vampire and a demon in the midst of a death match.

Jen rolled to her feet and scrambled to get out of the way, but she crumpled back to the ground, eating dirt before struggling to get back up as her neck throbbed and vision swam. An arm too muscled and lanky to belong to one of the morphed Rangers wrapped around her waist and pulled her up to her feet. Jen tried to move forward but her world spun wildly, she nearly crashed to the dust again---

"Gotcha," Dean muttered. Fed up with her dragging and falling, he swept Jen's light frame up into his arms, hooking one under her shoulders and the other under her knees; Jen jerked, trying to get away from the embrace as Dean physically carried her out of direct danger of the fight. His strong legs moved quickly, but there was strain behind the rigid line of his jaw and crinkled eyes; he brought her to safety, next to a bleary-eyed Sam who was sitting on the ground, then dropped her almost as quickly as he'd picked her up. Jen's knees gave out and she crashed hard to the ground, coughing and struggling to look around through the pain in her neck and head. For a second, she wondered why Dean had forgotten about her so suddenly, then---

"_Celia!"_ Dean's voice cracked as he tried to get her attention.

The noise only seemed to pitch as the redhead and vampire rolled; smashing bones, laying open flesh and snapped at windpipes and jugular veins.

"Celia! _M'amin!_ Get away!" Dean ordered, taking a few steps toward the fight then dancing back a few feet when Dominique lunged at him. The vampire crashed hard to the rocky earth when Celia came down on his back, an arm hooking around his neck in an awkward attempt to break the monster's neck. It would be useless even if she could do it.

The elder Winchester waited a split second before rushing in again, dashing around the whirlwind, trying to find a gap to separate Celia from Dominique as the pair tangled and thrashed, slamming each other into the earth with such force it would snap any regular human's muscles and bones.

"Dean, stay back!" Sam shouted, struggling to his knees as blood trickled down the side of his face. "You'll get yourself killed!"

"He's going to slaughter her!" Dean spat back.

As if to prove his point, a loud wail cut through the snarls and hisses when Dominique's shoulder and bicep smashed into Celia left knee, the joint gave way, dislocating with a sucking pop and wet snap. The redhead's bark of pain gave way to a snarl as she lashed back out and continued to move and react like her knee was in perfect condition.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled and dodged in toward the fight only to be bulldozed and rolled back out with a deep slash across his cheek and the beginnings of a bruise starting on his stomach; one of both wounds could have easily had been caused by Celia in her combat lusted mind, but no one could be sure where exactly they came from.

Dean coughed and choked, trying to push himself up when a massive boot came down on his chest and shoved the elder Winchester down onto his back. He gasped as pain flared up his abdomen.

The tip of a blade swung across his vision as Ransik waved the sword in his face. The mutant had come out of nowhere, from somewhere in the darkness, and was now hovering over Dean with a menacing glare. The blade of his sword glittered beneath the stars.

"Shit... " Dean wheezed as the mutant put more weight down on the bending bones of his ribcage. One snapped. He cried out softly.

"Now you die…" Ransik smiled slightly.

"Dean!" Sam barked, the urgency of the situation pushing him to his feet. He stumbled upward, took off running, knowing he would be too late even as Ransik hefted the sword to cut off his brother's head.

Dominique and Celia slammed hard into the back of Ransik's knees, unintentionally toppling the massive mutant; he rolled right over on top of Dean. The Hunter scrambled, taking two heavy blows to his skull and side before he broke free of the snarling, bloody chaos. Ransik slammed into the ground, rolled onto his back, and swung at his nearest target--- who happened to be Sam, having run as fast as he could to aid his brother. Ransik's fist knocked the air from Sam's lungs as it collided with his stomach, he doubled over and nearly fell, but Dean staggered upward just in time to keep him upright. Grunting with the effort, Dean swung his leg out, his Timberland boot striking Ransik square in the chest; the impact jarred Dean's leg more than it hurt the mutant, but he still lost his balance and was forced to retreat a step.

Finally gaining the upperhand, Celia pinned Dominique to the rocky earth, a forearm across the vampire's throat; he thrashed, kicking and pounding on Celia's bruised and bleeding sides, but she stayed planted firmly over the vampire, grinding him into the earth. Celia looked far worse than Dominique though, she seemed to had taken twice as much damage as her enemy... or was healing slower.

Face-to-face, inches apart, they growled, baring teeth through bloody foam and saliva, both chests heaving and panting. Celia's vision flickered between normal and bright shades of red as the demon within her fought to take over completely; she felt her control slipping with each injury her body absorbed, her resistance fading. But all she had to do was hold Dominique down until someone got there with a machete to finish him...

---

_**9:06 PM**_

Wes' Chrono Saber swung down fast and hard on the shoulder of Jigsaw, sending sparks flying into the air and bringing a cry of pain from the mutant's mouth; but the Red Ranger had long ago lost most of his strength, and the temporary hold was lost as quickly as it was gained when Jigsaw lashed out again, striking Wes in the throat. Wes' choked and gasped weakly, sinking to his knees as Lucas jumped up to take his place; the Blue Ranger first feigned a kick, tricking Jigsaw into blocking his midsection, then landed a kick to the mutant's head, and another to his neck.

Wes shook his head slowly, agony blazing through his beaten body; vaguely, he registered the fierce fight going on somewhere to his right, Celia and Dominique's cries and snarls, but his vision was too blurry to really see what was going on. A flash of blue whirled by him and Lucas crashed to the ground, moaning, his hands reaching for his leg as if it was hurting him; desperately, Wes glanced around to see if anyone was there... if any help was in sight.

There was no one.

Gritting his teeth, he got back on his feet and leapt up into a sidekick that connected with Jigsaw's shoulder, throwing him off balance and sending him spinning; Jigsaw snatched the pistol-like weapon he had holstered on his leg as he flew backward though, and squeezed the trigger when he found his feet again. The beam shot into Wes' suit and seared through his ribs, he cried out, stumbled but didn't fall, and fired off a shot with his blaster; Jigsaw fell onto his back, finally vulnerable for the battle-ending blow that Wes and Lucas were more than happy to deliver. Their blasters shot in unison, the lasers igniting and striking Jigsaw, creating a powerful explosion that shook the very ground beneath their feet.

Trip gasped/cried as he kicked another cyclobot off of him and sent it hurling into the Silverado, the 'bot caught on fire and began to crackle and burn, and Trip grabbed the bloody machete laying on the ground, running over to Katie. The Yellow Ranger still had Dixon beneath her, but her strong arms were trembling from the exertion of holding him for so long; she smiled behind her mask as Trip tossed her the weapon, then readied herself for the kill.

Time Force didn't kill... they captured.

She knew she would never forget the odd crack and thump as her blade cut into Dixon's neck and severed his head, nor the clear eyes that gazed up at her as all life was drained from them.

Eric took a shot to his shoulder and slammed into a boulder with the force of the blast from Frax's open-palmed hand, pain blazed in his dark eyes and for a moment he nearly fell down, too exhausted to go on; then a gloved hand fell to his uninjured shoulder, and Wes' voice strengthened his resolve.

"Come on," the Red Ranger said, breathing heavily, "Let's finish him."

For the briefest of moments, they clasped hands... then charged back into the fight. Alarmed, Gluto turned and started hobbling away, no longer a threat, too concerned for his own safety to continue on; but Frax remained, cackling insanely and shooting at the running pair as they came upon. Eric dodged the shots that Wes couldn't block with his Saber, and the two were able to continue, unfazed.

Suddenly, Eric dropped down on one knee and Wes jumped, planting one foot on Eric's good shoulder and launching himself into the air, his Saber extended upward; Frax's eyes widened in fear, recognizing the lethal TimeStrike. Before Wes could finish the move, the robot disappeared, teleporting to safety, with Gluto following the example.

Wes' feet hit the ground, and his body kept on going, finally crumpling.

"Wes!" Eric shouted, demorphing and dashing toward the fallen Ranger as he flashed between his morphed and unmorphed form; at last, the protective suit flickered and disappeared, leaving Wes laying in the dirt in his torn khakis and bloodied shirt. His face was streaked with sweat and blood, his eyes were unfocused as they darted around, confused.

"Wes... Wes, look at me," Eric said, his voice gentle but firm. "Hang in there, rich boy." He looked over his shoulder when a strange sound came from Celia and Dominique; the redhead now had the vampire at a disadvantage, and was trying her best to hold him down long enough for someone to kill him.

Eric's eyes flashed to Ransik as the enraged mutant snatched up his sword and lunged at Celia and the vampire.

"RED!" Jen choked on the warning, but her voice was strengthened by the chorused yells of the Winchesters, and Eric.

Celia's head twitched aside, red eyes cleared of the combat lust for a split second as self-preservation took over; letting go of Dominique, she rolled away from him and stumbled to her feet, hobbling back as Ransik's blade came down hard. The mutant's momentum was going too fast for him to stop, and his sword slashed straight through Dominique's gut into the earth. The vampire jerked, writhed, and bellowed in pain; the injury was far from fatal for the vampire, but just one more blow... one too many.

Dominique heaved a breath and shivered once, looking down at the sword in his gut in shock before turning his attention to Ransik.

The frayed threads of Dominique's weakened restraint and sanity snapped.

The vampire shoved off the earth and swiped at Ransik, fingers spread wide open, curled in like a set of claws from some beast; his inhuman nails slashed into Ransik's cheek, barely missing his eye, and tore through to his bone. Ransik yelped in pain and tried to step back, but didn't get a chance to get away from the berserk vampire as the monster attacked him with as much ferocity and violence as he had Celia. With a loud shout of pain, Dominique twisted his body, dislodging the sword from the earth, and wrenched it from his gut before tearing into Ransik's face and throat like a wild animal. In the moments before Ransik realized what was happening, the vampire had torn his face so horribly he was covered in blood and much of his exposed skin hung in threads; Ransik was half-blinded from the pain and the blood running down his face, but he still managed to land a blow to Dominique. His large fist smashed into the vampire's chest as, nearby, Dean rushed to Celia's side; she was swaying on one foot, stumbling to one knee from time to time before scrambling to get up, dazed and confused, her eyes still bright and flickering between red and black. Teetering on the edge of feral violence and desperate to stay on her feet.

"Celia," Dean gasped, trying desperately to get her attention, but her gaze was locked in on the fight. "Goddamnit, look at me!" he yelled, wanting to shake her, hit her, do _something _to break the hold that the demon was quickly fastening on her. His hand brushed her bicep and Celia jumped a mile, her lips drawing up to flash wolf like teeth and snarling at him as she jerked away.

Dominique fell to the ground and rolled away from Ransik, unhurt from the mutant's vicious blow, he jumped to his feet and took a half second to look for his prey--- he spotted her and Dean, and a bloodthirsty smirk crossed his battered face. Dean stood on unsteady legs in a desperate attempt to shield Celia from the crazed monster, but he was only human, and it took barely any effort for Dominique to toss him aside like a ragdoll. For a split second, Celia snapped out of her trance as Dean sailed through the air and crashed into the Impala with a sickening crunching sound; he cried out as he slumped down, his eyes glazing over for a moment as the pain and fatigue began to take over.

The redhead staggered to make room to fight, she misstepped and crashed to one knee. Celia forced herself up, balancing on her uninjured leg precariously as Dominique approached again, his eyes set on her, having completely forgotten about Jen. With a bark, Dominique jumped, throwing himself at Celia; her arms flashed out, hands tangling in Dominique's blood-soaked shirt, and yanked him up and over her as she dropped and rolled onto her back. Dominique clawed at her as she flipped the vampire over her head, her boots slammed into his stomach and shoved him up and away.

Celia braced her hands above her shoulders and used them to propel herself back up, once again balancing on one leg.

More annoyed than hurt, Dominique hissed. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and ran down his stubbled chin.

A whistle cut through the insanity, and the vampire half twisted to glance over his shoulder as Sam swung his machete forward, slicing cleanly through Dominique's neck.

The carcass dropped to the earth with a muffled crunch.

Sam stood, his hands shaking but tight around the machete, eyes fixated on Dominique's body.

Celia remained in her fighting stance for a half a second before straightening and throwing back her head in warbling noise that sounded oddly like a wolf howl.

"MY HOUSE!" Celia barked at the top of her lungs, her voice suddenly deep and completely unlike her own. Her chest was heaving and shivering from effort and pain, lines of blood, sweat and dirt crosshatched over her face and body. She glanced around with bleary vision, taking note of the remaining Rangers, and the Winchester brothers... but, Eric reflected, she didn't seem to really see any of them. Then she averted her eyes, searching 'til she found Nadira again; the mutant girl was crouched beneath a little tree, trying to hide from the fight, trembling as tears rolled down her dusty cheeks.

Celia's jaw locked, and a slow, low snort echoed through her nose; she bent, lifting her nearly forgotten knife, and stalked stiffly and painfully toward the girl, one arm wrapped protectively around her stomach, she toyed with the knife in her other hand.

Jen's eyes flashed from the redhead... to Nadira. Realization dawned. The Pink Ranger pushed herself to sit up, trying to get to her feet and failing. "Red… Red, don't," Jen growled her concussed words, slightly slurred.

Celia eyes flicked toward her, blood red focusing on the younger woman before pulling away to the mutant again; her slow and deliberate walk continued, the knife in her hand twisting and flashing in the headlights.

"Celia! _Don't!"_

The rancher hesitated and looked down at Jen, stopping to study the Ranger.

"Don't... do it," Jen panted, spitting the words out between painful gasps.

Celia licked cracked lips and started to speak---

"_Red!_ There!" Sam's voice cut through the dark, turning Celia in his direction.

Ransik.

Celia dodged the first swipe of one of Ransik's swords, but not the second; the tip of his serrated blade glanced across her side and slightly up her back, slicing through clothing and flesh. A sharp yelp of pain cut out of Celia's throat as she stumbled back, clutching her side and struggling to keep her feet.

"Die, bitch," Ransik whispered, advancing on her.

Celia ignored him, stumbling another step back as she gingerly lifted her shirt to look at the new wound on her flank.

"Dean," Sam rasped as his older brother staggered to him. Sam's blue eyes were locked on Celia's exposed side. "Dean... the trap's broken."

The elder Winchester's eyes flashed from his brother to Celia--- the shallow wound was superficial, but it left an inch wide gap through the outer ring of the devil's trap across her back. Celia looked up at him, blood red locking with green for a split second as horror danced on both their faces.

The desert was silent.

"_Ahote…"_ Celia rasped, pleading, almost begging for forgiveness.

"No…" Dean choked. "No, M'amin… NO! GODDAMNIT!"

Panicking, Dean lunged forward then thrashed against Sam as the younger Hunter grabbed and restrained his brother.

"Celia, fight!" Sam commanded... begged. His gut bottomed out and his heart twisted as Celia stumbled, dropping to her knees and hugging her stomach, hunched over; her whole frame was wracked with tremors. Shaking violently, she heaved and hacked, coughing up saliva... a rope of blood dangled from her lips. An arm pulled from her stomach and braced in the rocky earth.

Jen--- now demorphed ---finally got to her feet, and instinctively tried to rush to Celia's side, determined to return the favor and shield her.

"No… fuck… " Dean snarled and struggled against Sam.

Sam swallowed hard and took initiative. "Jen, get away from her!"

Jen froze in place, looked back at Sam, a slight tilt to her head.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!" Sam nearly screamed. _"GET BACK!"_

Like something out of "The Exorcist" ... a demonic cackle escaped from Celia's lips, startling Jen and causing her to step backward once; still, the Pink Ranger couldn't bring herself to leave Celia crouched on the ground, alone, unguarded. She reached out one hand, struggling to keep her voice steady: _" ... Red?"_

Abruptly, Celia's breathing changed. Instead of gasping and struggling for each breath, she was suddenly inhaling twice, quickly, then letting out one long, shaking breath. The result was eerie.

Still kneeling by Wes' prone form, Eric felt a chill creep up his spine.

Trip and Katie, side-by-side, exchanged nervous glances. At their feet, Valentine whined pathetically... Buckshot laid his ears back and growled deeply, no longer recognizing Celia.

The breaths repeated, turning into an unnatural rhythm, almost like a song. Rasp. Rasp. Exhale. Rasp. Rasp. Exhale.

Rasp. Rasp. Exhale.

"No…" Dean's voice broke, he dropped his head, staring at the earth.

The shivering stopped. Slowly and deliberately, Celia pushed herself up and sat back, kneeling on limbs that no longer trembled. Her eyes opened and refracted light for a split second before clearing.

Dean's heart clenched. He stopped breathing.

A ring of blood red still existed, floating eerily in a flood of ink black of her eyes. The demon blinked lazily. The body moved slowly, awkwardly, more like a clockwork doll than a living thing.

"_Tashuunka._" Dean snarled, bitterly. "Dog."

The demon's attention swung around and focused on Dean.

The sight of a demon using Celia's body unnerved Jen, startled her; she walked backward 'til she was the same distance away from the newest threat as Dean was. Nervously, she spared a glance at the Winchester, knowing the answer to her question before she even asked:

" ... the demon?"

Dean nodded solemnly. "The trap's broken...

"She's lost control," Jen whispered.

"She doesn't have control to lose." Dean rasped. "It's not her body anymore."

The demon, TashuunkaDean had called it, was still staring at Dean; Celia's face was unrecognizable, an emotionless mask where once a warm, loving smile may have been. Suddenly, Celia's arm lifted, her hand opened and her palm faced Dean, her hand twisted making a slow movement like scooping something from the air before she swung her arm back down to slam her fist into the dirt; an invisible force flung Dean downward and pinned him, flat on his back. He groaned aloud as the pressure increased on his chest and ribs, slowly bending the fragile bones, threatening to snap them.

"Celia, no!" Sam cried, longing to rush to his brother but knowing there was nothing he could do. "Don't let it--- " before he could finish, Tashuunka had him pinned back as well with a short, controlled twist of her hand and wrist, his back pressed up to the right front tire of the Impala. One bolt dug into his back painfully.

"Fucking Dog." The younger Winchester grunted.

Tashuunka settled in place going still as the chest expanded and retracted in the sharp inhales and long exhale. One fist firmly planted in the earth and the other hand lifted and twisted and arched as if holding a cup. One pinned Dean the other Sam. The demon didn't move, as if resting with the two most immediate threats trapped.

"Jen... " Dean gasped, struggling to look up at the startled brunette.

Jen stood with her legs planted shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands dangling at her sides; she was prepared for a battle, just like she had been trained... but she had never fought a demon before. With a slow, subtle movement, she reached to the back of her jacket and grabbed the flask she had tucked up underneath, in her skirt; Tashuunka's attention was still resting solidly on Dean, but she knew that wouldn't last forever.

A few yards away, Eric knelt on the ground, keeping one hand planted flat on Wes' chest--- monitoring the unsteady breaths coming from the now-unconscious Ranger ---and the other fingering the rosary stuffed in the pocket of his leather jacket. In his other pocket was the crumpled paper, with the words of the exorcism scribbled onto them in Sam's handwriting.

For a few moments, no one moved. No one made a sound. Then...

Everything happened at once.

Jen swung her arm around from her back, having opened the flask, and splashed Holy Water directly across Tashuunka's face and eyes; steam immediately rose up into the air and Tashuunka let out a bellow of rage and pain, deep and harrowing, like a crack of thunder. The pain caused the demon to lose his control over Dean and Sam, and the two of them got to their feet as quickly as their battered bodies would let them; at the same time, Eric left his spot by Wes and ran up to Jen's side, yelling out Celia's name, hoping to break through to her.

No use.

One hand rubbed harshly across blinded eyes. Snarling and growling in pain the demon's arm planted in the earth swept around as if shoving away an annoyance; and this time the unseen force knocked Eric and Jen off their feet and sent them hurling backwards; they landed beside Lucas and Trip, who now stood guard over Wes. Their faces were incredulous, and terrified. But it didn't take long for the Time Force officers to regain their nerve, they looked at each other quickly, determined, then ran toward the demon puppeting Celia's body.

"No!!!" Dean shouted, grasping for the two Rangers as they ran by him.

To their credit, they did manage to do.... _some _good. Trying their best not to hurt Celia, Katie and Trip instead focused on restraining the demon; Trip ducked low to avoid an awkward swing from Tashuunka, then wrapped his arms around her stomach. The demon managed to get rid of Trip easily, red ring and black eyes glared at him as an arm hooked around his side and under his chest. Fingers dug like claws into the flesh above his sternum and swept him roughly away and sent him reeling, stumbling so badly he fell on his butt at Sam's feet; Katie scrambled to grab both of Tashuunka's wrists and pinned them behind the demon's back. Katie proved to be a little more difficult, her super-strength not quite up-to-par with a demon's, but still more of a challenge.

Using Katie's strength to his advantage, Sam stalked forward with his own flask of Holy Water and again doused Celia with it; her shirt was soaking wet, her jeans stuck to her thighs, and steam was rolling off her body. She wailed, a warbling ugly noise that echoed with a faded humanity.

Off to the side, Ransik and Nadira watched in both horror and fascination as Celia was transformed, and Tashuunka took hold over her; after the second dose of Holy Water, she struggled even harder against Katie's iron grip, the growl coming from her mouth sounding like that of a rabid wolf. Sweat poured down Katie's face as she tried to hold on, but her grip was weakening and Tashuunka was only getting stronger. Sam raised the flask again, but this time, before he could do anything, Tashuunka broke free of Katie's hold. A swift elbow to the ribs snapped at least four and doubled Katie over, the demon's head dropped then yanked back with incredible force, the back of Tashuunka's skull connected with the Yellow Ranger's face with an audible crack and dropped the larger woman to the ground. Tashuunka's hand wrapped around Sam's throat, shoving him back and off his feet. It was enough to leave him gasping for air, and unable to hang onto the flask.

The demon stumbled back, panting and putting room between it's host body and the assailants, blood bubbled up and trickled out the corner of Tashuunka's mouth. Lips curled and the demon let out a low warning hiss as it tried to recover from the exertion.

"Celia... " Dean tried again, stepping up to help his brother get to his feet. He gripped Sam's arms, standing slightly in front of him, protectively.

But an animal he didn't recognize now stood where his friend once had. Tashuunka pulled Celia's lips back, curved, wolf like teeth glittered in the pale light as she growled deeply, seeming more and more like the hellhound Tashuunka was than a person; Dean couldn't hide his unease, he remained in front of Sam, but swallowed hard. Off to the side, Ransik and Nadira quietly fled. The movement and sound of the mutants teleporting away to avoid violence with Tashuunka drew the demon's attention instinctively. Tashuunka swung towards the disruption with a warning snarl, stilling in confusion when there was nothing there to attack or defend against.

"Dean," Sam gasped, still wheezing, "We've gotta get to the truck--- " he glanced at the Silverado, flinching against the bright orange and yellow flames licked at the destroyed front end..

Dean gripped his brother's elbow and yanked him up, then took off running toward the ruined truck as Jen and Eric once again tried to rush Tashuunka's turned back. Dean reached the Silverado first and jumped into the bed despite Sam's cry of protest; the fire crept towards the windshield and cab as Dean wrenched the lid of the tool box up and open, rummaging through the collection of Hunting weaponry, stores, objects and tools. The elder Winchester's hand brushed against a leather bound journal. His eyes flicked to the orange flames as he grabbed the journal, yanked it free and tossed it to Sam.

"What's Nathaniel's journal going to do?!" Sam snarled.

"If the truck goes Celia'll never live down losing it!" Dean snapped back as he started yanking the disassembled parts of a tranquilizer rifle from the tool box and swiftly started snapping it together.

Tashuunka's eyes flashed to the truck, and the two brother's standing beside it and working over the open toolbox; even in the haze of the possession, she recognized the meaning behind the toolbox, knew it was full of the only weapons they could use against Tashuunka.

Jen saw the demon's temporary distraction, and used the moment to pour another dose of Holy Water on Celia's drenched body; Eric pushed aside any apprehension he had about hurting Celia and kicked her savagely in the knee, jarring it at an awkward angle and sending her down. It was the good knee... he couldn't bring himself to harm her anymore than he absolutely had to.

But to Tashuunka, the two Rangers were nothing more than an inconvenience. With a small twist of Celia's wrist then closing the fingers into a fist, Jen and Eric were choking, their windpipes slowly being crushed... then all the demon's attention focused on the Winchesters again. Dean was leaning over the toolbox, rooting to find a small wooden box buried deep in the clutter.

"Got it?" Sam muttered, sweat beads that had formed on his brow were now running down his face. Tension running through his muscles as time pounded against them.

" ... I can't fucking find it---" Dean snarled back.

The elder Winchester jerked back as Tashuunka roughly vaulted Celia's body towards the truck bed. The redhead's side crashed into the metal and fiber glass taking a swipe at Dean before sliding back and dropping roughly to the earth. The damage to both knees giving no leeway to leap into the truck bed. The demon snarled, curling her lips and showing teeth before hooking a hand under the rear wheel well of the Silverado.

"DEAN!!!"

The shout was lost in the chaos that followed as the truck was flipped into the air and began to spin around; in the bed, Dean struggled to hold onto anything that would save him. The lid of the toolbox slamming shut and nearly taking his arm off. Dean scrambled, clinging to the half assembled rifle with one arm and grabbed the toolbox with the other. But it didn't take long before he crashed onto the metal bed, smashing his face against the back window before finally pitching over the side. The bolts keeping the toolbox pinned across the truck bed buckled. The toolbox wrenched and flew free from the spinning Silverado. Dean landed facedown in the dirt, grunting painfully and letting out a soft cry as the impact jarred his already-beaten body. The toolbox landed in the dirt several yards away, rolling over and landing on it's back as the lid fell open and the contents spilled out.

Instinctively, Sam ran to his brother, his long legs only taking a few steps before he was at Dean's side; he never barley noticed the truck that was barreling down on the both of them until it slammed into the rocky earth thirty feet away, half collapsed on it's side in a twisted mass of metal. It groaned and rattled into silence.

Tashuunka snarled, snorted and stalked towards the crouched brothers unprotected by the vehicle barrier.

Eric launched himself up toward Tashuunka, finally having caught his breath; he hit Celia's knees and sent them onto the ground, straddling the redhead. Jen scrambled to her feet and hurried over to them, using the last of her supply of Holy Water as she poured it over Celia's neck and face; gray smoke rushed into the air as the possessed woman screamed and writhed. An open hand lashed out and swiped Eric across the face, jerking his head sideways, stars danced across his vision; another blow caught him under his chin and sent him reeling backwards.

Dean shoved away from Sam and rushed towards the toppled toolbox, he slid in the dirt with Sam on his heels. She dug through the spilled and half destroyed contents for the remaining pieces of the tranquilizer rifle while Sam rooted for and found a small wooden box, the outside carved with a horse rearing across the lid. Sam wrenched the box open and dug out one of the darts settled in, thankfully none of them damaged. The glass tranquilizer darts each filled to the brim with a pale yellow liquid.

"Dean." Sam offered it to older Hunter.

The elder brother swiftly fitted two darts into the rifle and cocked it to fire.

Tashuunka shoved up and lunged towards the Quantum Ranger, breathing heavily, her face red with fury and eyes flooded by black and that floating red ring. Tashuunka twitched Celia's wrist, twisting and scooping through the air before slamming the fist into the earth. The same move to pin Dean to the ground crushed Jen's body to the desert earth and pressured to collapse the Pink Ranger's chest. Eric shoved himself up and lunged at the demon. Tashuunka twisted, the demon's free hand swinging up to slam into Eric's neck. The demon's fingers closed around his throat, strangling and throttling the younger man with one hand, crushing Jen with the other and preparing to deliver the final blow---

"Dog!" Sam's shout echoed through the valley, drawing the demon's attention to him. He was kneeling in front of the destroyed Silverado, Dean standing behind him, with the high-powered rifle nestled tightly into his shoulder. He squeezed off a shot before Tashuunka could even react. The tranquilizer sped through the air and buried itself in Celia's shoulder.

Tashuunka barked and snarled, releasing Eric and Jen to try and wrench the dart free. The second shot echoed off the desert rock as Dean planted the secondary dose deep Celia's flank. The demon scrambled up, ripping both darts from Celia's flesh and that eerie warbling wail cutting across the earth, directed at Dean. Making Tashuunka's displeasure vocal.

"If you would quit fucking around with my girl I wouldn't have to drug your ass," Dean rasped out sarcastically as he dropped the tranquilizer rifle's muzzle to point to the earth. The demon stumbled back staggering and snarling.

Coughing heavily, Eric shoved himself up and started toward the demon.

"Back off kid!" Dean ordered, his voice cracked tiredly as Eric jumped and stumbled back to Jen's side. "Just… just back off."

Tashuunka snarled at both of them, taking a step toward Dean and Sam but staggering drunkenly. Celia's frame shook and shivered, the breathing shallowed as a thin, bloody froth collected at her lips. The demon shook itself, like a dog, a small cloud of red and brown dust clouding around Celia's body stumbled, teetering. The demon paced stiffly in a confused circle, making small, cracked animal noises when it stumbled and crumpled to the earth then struggled back to Celia's feet. After a few seconds the restless, drunken movements stopped. Tashuunka went still and stood awkwardly on two feet. As a minute passed Celia's head dropped lower as the demon lost physical control.

"Almost there… _drop _you sonofabitch." Dean growled.

A pass of air rippled out of Tashuunka. The noise rattled in Celia's lungs like a quarter in a can. A surprised grunt and groan that sounded almost equine quipped out of Celia's throat as her frame collapsed to the earth with a dull crunch onto her side.

Dean and Sam let out a simultaneous breath of relief. Jen immediately looked around for any other threat and--- finding none ---eased herself down to sit on her butt and braced her hands in the dirt behind her. Eric braced his stance but resisted sitting when Dean and Sam went into action. Sam swiftly turned to the toolbox, collecting a few objects as Dean jogged stiffly across the earth toward Celia's barely breathing frame. He tossed a capped syringe toward Eric, who fumbled before catching it tiredly.

"Hold onto that," Dean ordered quietly as he motioned the Quantum Ranger forward. Eric hesitated for a few seconds before starting forward slowly. "Hold her neck and head up for me."

Eric knelt and reached toward Celia, flinched and jerked back when he saw Celia's eyes slit open and watching him through blood and black pupils and retinas.

"She's sedated," Dean assured as he reached and carefully hooked his hand under her neck and an arm under her waist to pull her upright. A whisper of a protest passed from the demon and it looked like Dean had to consciously restrain himself from punching the demon, resisting only for the sake of Celia's damaged body.

Eric moved and braced his hands on Celia's shoulders. The syringe clenched gently between his teeth. "What was in that stuff?" He asked in a quiet muffle.

"Holy water, salt, horse blood, Phenylbutazone, Acetylpromazine-maleate and Xylazine." Dean rambled off emotionlessly as he used a knife to slice open Celia's flannel shirt then her T-shirt. Both soaked in blood, sweat and holy water. Dean tossed them away and started to inspect Celia's wounds, some had already sealed closed and healed entirely, others looked like they were just starting to heal up. The majority of her flesh was streaked in blood.

"Drugs?"

"Horse tranquilizers and painkillers. Bute numbs the nerves, Ace and Xylazine are tranks."

Eric looked up as Sam crossed over, Buckshot and Valentine trotting on his heels. He moved stiffly, carrying a jug of distilled water, a lantern glowing pale blue and a ceramic bowl filled with a few supplies. The younger Winchester passed the bowl to Dean and eased down to one knee flinching and hissing quietly. He set the lantern close by to light up the dark suffocating around them. The two dogs eased themselves to lie down some space away, their eyes sharp and watching protectively. They whined quietly.

Dean dug in his pocket and extracted his keys. He shoved them into Sam's hand. "Take the kids to the hospital," he ordered.

"Dean---"

"Sam." The elder's voice cut sharply across and denied Sam room to argue. "Take the kids to the hospital. I don't have any broken bones. Some of them do."

"I'm staying," Eric said firmly.

"Kid, you've got to have a few ribs broken at least. The way you're moving---" Dean protested.

"I'm not leaving." Eric snapped back, he took a leaf out of Celia's book and actually flashed his teeth warningly at the elder Winchester. Dean's chin lifted but he saw enough fight--- the same kind of fight Celia had ---in the Quantum Ranger not to try and argue with him. He sure as hell could never argue with Celia.

"Fine," Dean growled. "Take the rest of them back and get 'em into the ER."

"No," Jen grunted as she carefully pushed herself up, her back rippling in pain; she pushed passed it and carefully moved toward the group. "We can't go to a hospital... Wes is, well, he's Wesley Collins. We can't afford to have anyone discover our identities, and there's no way to explain these injuries without cops showing up."

"Jen---" Sam started.

"You can take care of them right?" Jen prompted. "Get them back to the Clock Tower and patch them up... " she glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes focusing on Wes. A flicker of pain crossed her face. "The Ranger powers will help us heal. We'll be fine."

The brothers exchanged a glance.

"All right. I'll take care of them," Sam assured as he set the bowl of materials next to the jug of water. It contained small vials of salt, a liquid that looked like blood, one of water and a black liquid that looked like ink. There was a folded towel, a rolled up tee shirt, a buck knife and a lighter. Sam pushed himself up and started toward the Rangers slowly trying to collect themselves.

"Manipulative bitch," Dean muttered. "Either of you two start to pass out on me I'm not going to be nice."

"Hey, Tough-Guy, you're not looking much better," Jen snapped back.

Ignoring her, Dean cracked open the jug and titled it to spill over the towel. Once it was wet he passed it over his face and hands before handing it to the two Rangers to the do the same. Both were happy to scrub the sweat, dirt and blood from their faces and hands. It was a welcome, simple relief that seemed to make it easier to breathe. Dean took the towel back, spilled more water over the fabric and gently swiped it over Celia's flesh, wiping the blood, sweat and dirt from Celia's stomach and chest around her bra. He cleaned her arms, shoulders, throat and then her face.

A low irritated growl rose weakly from Celia's throat.

"It's for her, you bastard," Dean snapped, getting in Celia's face and baring his own teeth to match Celia's. He stared the sedated demon down for a second before shifting around to swipe the grime clean from Celia's back. The black lines of the devil's trap carved into her back came back into clarity; Dean paid extra attention to the still bleeding wound that caused a gap in the trap. Dean poured a little pure water over the wound before sitting back and starting into mixing a thick, ink liquid into the ceramic bowl. He stirred it with the knife tip.

Sam crossed back. "Got Wes, Katie and Lucas loaded up. Wes' still unconscious and Katie's face it pretty messed up from that head butt. Trip's fighting me---" He motioned to where the green haired teen hovered a few yards away. "He doesn't look too bad, says it's just bruises. Superficial stuff."

"I want to stay!" Trip said sharply from his place.

"You want to help?" Dean asked irritably, Trip nodded and flinched a little as pain flicked across his neck and head. "Then help my brother. The less of an audience Celia gets the better, get it?"

Trip looked startled before casting his eyes toward Jen; the Pink Ranger nodded in agreement as Sam gently nudged the teenager toward the Impala. Sam stepped up, took the knife from Dean and nicked the inside of his wrist; he held his arm out, letting blood trickle into the mix before turning to follow in Trip's wake to the Impala. Dean listened to the engine rev into life and crunch through the dirt toward the highway. Dean lifted his eyes once to follow the headlights of the Impala before looking toward Jen and Eric, their faces eerie and harrowed in the bluish light.

The Quantum Ranger's head was dipped toward his chest, exhaustion and pain taking over as he stayed still. His eyes were half lidded and his breathing thin, rattling and painful in his lungs and damaged chest; his arms and hands were starting to shake with effort to keep Celia's dead weight upright. But through his own pain Dean noticed that Eric's hand was firmly on the back of Celia's skull, his fingers threaded in her hair, moving gently across her scalp. Dean could see the young man was trying to comfort Celia. More to himself than anyone else, Dean smirked.

Jen seemed to be teetering, though she as fighting it with every ounce of strength she had left. She was sitting gingerly, one arm hugging her stomach, and looked like she was deliberately trying not to move. Her eyes were closed and her breathing even and slow.

And--- Dean had to admit ---he probably wasn't doing much better. Every inch of his body felt swollen, bruised and painful. He was still out of breath from the exertion of the fight, and the adrenaline pumping through his body had barely calmed down, it would probably take all night before his heart returned to normal. His eyelids felt so damn heavy, too...

"You're doing good, Eric," he encouraged gently as he nicked his inner wrist and dripped blood into the bowl. Eric lifted an exhausted gaze to meet Dean's and nodded slightly. "Hold out your wrist, you too, Jen," Dean instructed.

Both Rangers did as they were told, but Jen frowned. "Why?" she asked stiffly.

"You two have earned a right to be a part of this." Dean carefully nicked the inside of each of their wrists, holding the bowl under the slow trickle of blood before drawing it back, swirling the contents and passing the discolored towel to them to stop the blood flow.

"And I think it'll be good for Celia, too. It's going to be rough on her... and the more support she has the better. She's not a very good rape victim," Dean muttered.

"Rape?" Eric rasped, his thick eyebrows drawing together.

Dean hesitated in his stirring. "That thing used and abused her body, mind and soul for its own gain. Used her to hurt people she cared about, and humiliated her. It destroyed another part of her life, physically and emotionally. Tell me _your _definition of 'rape'."

Dean pulled his eyes from the two Rangers and dipped the full blade into the mix of ink, blood, holy water and salt; he turned the blade over a few times as he moved around to the gap in the trap. He carefully cut into the gap, deepening the shallow wound where the trap lines should be. The new blood mixed with the thick syrup of the ink as it trenched in the place. Dean repeated the action three more times, muttering and chanting quietly under his breath before he set the bowl aside and rubbed the blood and ink off the blade off on his jeans. He pulled the lighter toward himself and flicked it to life before holding it against the clean blade.

"The second I lay this down, feed that into her arm." Dean motioned toward the syringe between Eric's teeth. "It's only Xylazine, it'll knock her out for a little while."

"Good," Eric agreed as he steadied one hand on Celia's spine and used the other to uncap the syringe and slide the needle into a vein in her bicep, poised to depress the drug into her system.

The blade of the knife turned a dull red under the lighter. Dean moved it swiftly to the fresh track of black in Celia's back. "Do it."

Eric released the Xylazine into her bicep as Dean pressed the hot blade into Celia's back, cauterizing and scarring over the new ink. Celia's frame jerked and a sharp gasp of pain passed through her chest. In an instant the black flooded out of her eyes, leaving the ring of blood red behind, a welcome and relieving sight to the three people kneeling around her. The needle and blade pulled away in unison as Celia slumped into Eric's lap, her whole frame was wracked with a violent shiver; eyes clear and normal for a split second, she looked between the three before a single shuddering sob rippled from her throat and her eyes slid shut, unconscious. Dean's head hung heavily, he reached out and brushed a few strands of russet hair behind one of Celia's horns and ear. He pushed everything aside, lifted the black T-shirt and pulled Celia's limp frame up to force the shirt over her torso. Then the elder Winchester pulled Celia's body into his lap, he flinched once before settling in place, wrapping his arms tightly around her torso and rested his chin on the top of her head and horn.

Dean let out his own shuddering breath before speaking. "Good job you two."

The two Rangers nodded and stayed in their sitting positions, ignoring the pain and stiffness settling into their muscles or the need to speak their minds aloud in the pale, bluish light.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

…

_**The Clock Tower**_

_**3:35 AM**_

Katie let out a quiet moan as Sam pressed another icepack to her face and held it there, trying to minimize the swelling to her bloodied nose, which would forever be dented at an odd angle thanks to the break caused by being headbutted by a demon. Sam had done his best, but there was only so much one could do for a broken nose...

Katie looked dully passed the shape of the elder Winchester to take in the small bubble of their world around them.

The Clock Tower creaked and groaned louder than she remembered. The base of the old structure damaged by fire and explosives. The fire hadn't spread to high, scorching the stair cases and support beams before being controlled and beaten back. The upper levels only touched by smoke damage, all together it would be a relatively easy repair.

After looking over their damaged home Katie sought out her friends.

Spread out on a cot, dead to the world, was Trip; the boy had passed out not long after they had stumbled into the Tower and made the long climb up the stairs, Sam insisted on giving him a once-over, but found there was nothing so wrong with him that it couldn't wait a few hours. Lucas was an easy fix, mostly just bruised and scraped up, nothing too serious.

Wes was on the picnic table, covered by a patchwork quilt, his head resting on a ratty pillow and his breaths coming in short, harsh gasps that Sam recognized; the sound was a result of it being too painful to breathe fully. Broken ribs. Wes had recovered consciousness halfway into the city, but was still bleary-eyed and sluggish as Sam helped him upstairs; a concussion, Sam decided, and just an overall beating that a body was not meant to take. He hoped that a good sleep, and the Ranger powers, would heal Wes quickly. Otherwise, he might have to insist on a hospital visit, regardless of Jen's protests...

"... mmm... I got it," Katie mumbled, pulling away from him and placing her hand on the pack, replacing his. She blinked at him, her dark eyes full of gratitude. "Thanks."

Sam shrugged one shoulder and nodded, then winced, finding the movements both stiff and painful; he stood slowly, testing his strength, his muscles were crying out for rest and relief, every inch of his body was sore. Unable to hold it in, he let out a long, loud yawn, covering his mouth with one hand while using the other to massage the back of his neck; Katie smiled up at him sympathetically, then lowered the icepack. "Anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," Sam sighed. He pulled a bottle of Aspirin from the pocket of his jacket, downed a couple, then took a long gulp of water and smacked his lips. He stifled another yawn as he spoke: "I'm probably going to pass out before going out to check on the others. You okay?"

"Yeah... " Katie frowned. "Are they gonna be okay out there? I mean, Celia's not going to... the demon won't be back, will he?"

"No," Sam assured her, "He's trapped... Dean will make sure of that." He glanced at his watch. "They'll need some... time alone, I'll go get them in another hour." Pressing his lips together in what vaguely resembled a smile, he placed a hand on Katie's shoulder and squeezed. "You guys did good out there... you really are more than just a bunch of kids in colorful spandex."

Katie snorted. "Time Force is about more than just costumes and fancy gadgets, you know," she said, not just a little annoyed. "I know that... at first glance, it all seems surreal, and like a joke. But we've all worked hard to be here, in the Force, a part of the fight." She rolled her eyes upward for a moment. "Especially Jen."

Sam glanced back to look at Wes, who was still sleeping, seemingly peaceful. "What about him? Hardly seems like the type to be anxious to put his life on the line for something like this." His lips curved in a smirk. "Rich boy like that? He should be at Harvard, studying business, or something."

"That's what his father always wanted," Katie said, "But Wes... he's a different kind of rich kid. He really came through for us." She frowned, then looked down at her wristwatch. "Shouldn't we be heading back to pick them up by now? How long does it take to do that trap?"

"Not long," Sam answered, "But they'll need to be alone... _Celia _will need to be alone for awhile."

Katie nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

"A little while ago," she said, softly, "An old partner of Jen's, Steelix, showed up--- he betrayed the Time Force, and Jen had him locked up for it, needless to say, he had a bit of vendetta. He used her against us, brainwashed her, made her attack Wes."

She chuckled as she looked down at the wooden floor, scuffing the toe of her boot with her heel.

"You should've seen his face afterward, she really kicked his ass! Puffy eye, swollen cheek, the whole nine yards... anyway, once she was back to herself, Jen felt really horrible about it, she didn't even want any of us to be around her. We couldn't convince her that she had no control over it... she still blamed herself." Now she looked back up, and right at Sam. "Anyway, the point is... we all kind of have an idea of what you and Dean, and Red, are going through."

Sam put his hand on Katie's arm and patted it gently, offering a smile in return for her words. But it felt hollow and a little forced.

"Maybe it's a good thing Jen stayed with her then," he said, "....now, you really need to get to bed. I think I might take a nap before I head out there, too."

But before he could do that, he reflected, he needed to take a moment to tend to his own battle injuries; a sharp pain that was tingling down his left forearm caught his attention first, and he wasn't surprised when he saw a gash running from his elbow halfway to his wrist. It was deep, and still oozing blood.

_Definitely gonna need to stich that up, _Sam thought with a weary sigh. He dragged himself over to the big black duffle bag laying next to the door, one of the items that had been stored in the Impala, thankfully, and not the destroyed Silverado. He rummaged through it 'til he found the necessary supplies, then went about with the painful, bloody business of stitching himself up; each prick of the needle sent shivers down his spine, and soon sweat beads were forming and running lines down his face, leaving dirty streaks behind. He chewed on his lip, trying to concentrate on the task instead of losing himself to the pain and exhaustion; time dragged with each agonizing poke and pull, and Sam found himself wishing more and more with each second, that his brother was there to help him.

The blood stopped seeping out at last, and he dripped a little rubbing alcohol over the wound, biting back a snarl of pain as he swept it clean and dry before he covered up the wound with what gauze and tape he had left in the bag; he wrapped his hands, the bloody and torn knuckles, and stitched up a cut on his calf that he hadn't realized he'd had earlier. By the time it was over, nearly an hour after he started, his vision was so blurred he could barely see his hand in front his face, and the dizziness that swept over him when he tried to stand was enough to knock him back down. The darkness around the edges of his eyes was slowly closing in, his limbs suddenly felt out of his control; letting out a quiet, relieved sigh, his head dipped down on his uninjured arm and his eyes closed in sleep at last . . .

…

_**Ransik's Hideout--- The Prison Ship**_

_**4:15 AM**_

Ransik sat alone in his room, shielded by the darkness and left undisturbed by his daughter and his small army; they knew when was a bad time to bother him, and were wise enough to heed the warnings that radiated from his body. He sat on the edge of his cot, leaning onto his knees, his eyes burning into the gray wall, lost in thought; fresh memories of the fight still played in his mind over and over again, the vampires as they were cut down one-by-one, Celia as she was transformed from the woman he loathingly respected to an unrecognizable demon. He saw the horror in the Winchester brothers' eyes as they watched, the confusion and fear among the Rangers; he saw the dirt and blood fly into the air as bodies collided, he heard the cries of pain and grunts, he felt the agony as bones snapped and muscles were torn.

He had never been in a fight like that before . . . fighting for his life, the only possible outcome being the death of himself or his enemy. The Red Ranger, Alex, had put up one hell of a fight, he admitted, especially for a human, but even then, it wasn't like that; when Ransik was defeated by him, he was put into custody and tried for his crimes, not slaughtered like an animal.

That was the only way, it seemed, that the Hunters knew how to fight. For them there was no room for enemies or threats to live. Their world wasn't governed by democracy passed laws and expected processes. There was no routine, ideal situations, jury deliberation or court systems to govern and pass sentencing. Their laws were drawn in blood and enforced with steel and iron and laced with the ringing echoes of centuries of tradition, superstition, spellwork and echoed with the fingerprints of the original superpowers. They fought like each next breath was their last, fought like they knew they were going to die but were desperate for survival.

They fought like there was no greater pleasure or passion than feel the life of their prey slip away and finally snuff out.

He shuddered as he thought of what Celia, what the demon, or the Winchester brothers would do to him if they had the chance . . .

His hand grasped the knife that was laying beside him, and he brought it up to his eyes so he could study it, the gleam of the blade under the dull light, the carvings on the bone handle and engraving on the silver, the old stains that would remain forever as reminders of battles fought hard, and to the end. The knife probably meant a lot to its owner.

The demoness had said it was her father's. As had the younger of the Winchesters. It could have been passed on by living hands or pried from cold, dead ones to come to the red head. How many generations had carried it before? Would there be generations to carry it on afterwards?

Or was it his now. A testimony of survival against an animal known simply as 'Red' when all others didn't.

Gritting his teeth, Ransik pushed himself onto his feet and stalked out of the room, down the silent corridors of the prison ship, and outside into the night; he walked by himself, he walked for hours, but time meant nothing to him. He was focused on one thing, and that was returning to the place of the fight, going back to finish things, to show that _he _was the one who should be feared and respected.

His boots crunched over sticks and plants as he made his way through the woods that outlined the city and the desolate desert; what little light the moon gave off was successfully blocked by the towering trees above him, more than once he found himself tripping over some invisible object, and he nearly fell flat on his face after stumbling over a fallen log. But it didn't take long before he broke free of the suffocating forest, and found himself wandering the desert again, tasting the sand and dirt on his lips and between his teeth, listening to the sound of silence that could only _really _be heard in a desert. The silence left his mind open to his own thoughts, and now they were racing back-and-forth, again and again, unrelenting.

There really was no reason for him to be dragging himself from the safety of his hideout, back into the open, where the Rangers might find him, where he might have to face the Hunters again; he tried to force that reason into his system, make his body do what his mind was crying out, but still he kept on.

And for what?

Honor? He'd never cared for that, he'd battered helpless women and kicked little children aside like they were rats; he had struck down a beaten man and laughed as he died in the arms of his sobbing _fiancé_. There was no honor to be found in any of his actions, not in his entire life, so no, his motivation certainly wasn't honor.

Fear? He nearly laughed aloud at the absurd thought even as it crossed his mind . . . Celia had given him a fight, one he would remember forever, but he wasn't afraid of her; he had never been afraid, not even when the Red Ranger handcuffed him and he stood before thousands to receive his sentence. Not when he suffered hours of torture from a bite inflicted on him by a fellow mutant, Venomark . . . a wound that still forced him to suffer even to that day. But there had never been fear. He wasn't afraid to be hurt, he wasn't afraid to die . . . perhaps sometimes, he had to admit, he had even wished it upon himself.

Respect? With a disturbed groan, Ransik shut his eyes and paused for a moment, standing still under the nearly starless sky, a hand covering his face. _Yes . . ._ he said to himself, _respect. _But wasn't that a good thing? One should respect their enemy, should know his own limitations as well as knowing theirs; he had underestimated the Rangers before, and the Hunters, and paid for it. They all fought hard, and long, they wouldn't quit, no matter what. Oh, they would come to their end eventually, and by his hands, he had no doubt about that . . . but at the moment, he had to give credit where it was due.

And with that, he continued on his way.

It wasn't long before Ransik stepped onto earth soaked in blood. He stepped silently over and around the carcasses of slaughtered vampires and broken bits of cyclobots. The silhouettes of the remaining Rangers and Hunters appeared in front of him, but he stopped too far away for them to notice him; he studied them for a second in the pale blue light of a lantern.

Ransik eyed the gentle way the elder Winchester cared for Celia, the red head slumped against the man's chest and in his lap, apparently unconscious. One large hand was carding through her russet hair and passing lightly over her throat and jaw in slow soothing strokes.

The Pink Ranger sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, weariness written all over her face, but her eyes still alert and looking around, on guard. Every few minutes or so a violent shivered racked through her frame, making her flinch before settling back into her silent sentinel.

The Quantum Ranger stood over Dean and Celia, his arms crossed, his face grim, the stance of a warrior. Though it was stiff and stilted position; as if he was suffering in severe pain and refusing to allow it to take him under.

Sprawled across on their sides were the two German Shepherds. Their sides barely rising and falling, as if dead on the desert floor. The stark white fur of one was streaked in blood and dirt, the gristle of war less visible on the black and tan animal next to the white.

A deep growl sounded from Ransik's throat as he grabbed the knife from his belt, held it in the palm of his hand a second longer before flipping the knife to wrap his fingers around the tip of the blade, then let loose of it silently, watching as it flickered and spun under the moonlight and sunk to it's hilt in the sand and dirt a few feet away from the small party of Rangers and Hunters.

The soft thump of impact had the two German Shepherds on their paws in a second. The two dogs lunged forward, setting themselves as a barrier between Ransik and the four, healing humans. Their heads dropped, lips curled back to expose curved teeth as they snarled warningly and threatened Ransik from afar.

The Pink Ranger was the first to react, her eyes flashed to the knife before racing to find him in a heartbeat. She struggled to her feet, staggering before settling in place. The others looked after her, and the Quantum Ranger instantly went for his weapon before Dean held up his hand to stop him.

The Ranger followed the silent order from the elder Winchester but settled his hand firmly on his firearm.

The elder Winchester's eyes cast towards Ransik, the vivid green turned darker and steeled with barely restrained violence. Dean's nostrils flared and his chin lifted defiantly. The protective, steel colored sheen across the Winchesters eyes promised the mutant that if he tried to pick a fight now, now when Dean would fight to not only defend the life of one of his Hunting partners but the two young Rangers as well, that Dean would rain Hell on Ransik.

Ransik wasn't certain but it was a promise that it was a fight he would not survive.

Ransik nodded once, sharply.

Dean responded in the same way.

Their message was loud and clear, though unspoken; it lingered thickly in the air as Ransik turned to follow his trail back to his den and Dean pulled Celia closer to his frame protectively.

_It isn't over yet._

…

**_Desert Territory_**

_**40 Miles Outside of Silver Hills**_

_**4:47 AM**_

Lilacs and gunpowder.

It was masked under the heavy scents of fresh and dried blood, sweat, dirt and dust and the musk of overworked male. But Celia would know Dean's scent through Hell fire. Lilacs and gunpowder, there was no way of mistaking it. Not when it was an unbreakable thread in her heart and soul, anchoring her. The thread of Dean's scent, lilacs and gunpowder; Sam's scent, aged books and dried sage; and Elijah's scent so like that faded lingering smell of her father Nathaniel, bull leather and fresh straw… these kept Celia grounded in reality. Simple and powerful, keeping her sane.

Celia stayed as deep into unconsciousness as she could, letting cowardice get the better of her for the time being. Terrified to face the blood she'd spilled.

She was afraid.

For a few seconds Celia shrank as close to the shield Dean was as she possibly could, pressing her fevered skin as flush against his through the fabric of their clothing.

For a few long seconds her world was consumed by terror, self-loathing and the scent of lilac and gunpowder.

That self-loathing seethed and boiled over violently.

Within a few seconds Celia couldn't get away fast enough from one of the only people she trusted to keep her safe.

She shoved roughly out of Dean's arms and scrambled to get away, a breathy grunt of pain ripped out of her throat when her knees buckled and pain shot through her legs, hip and spine. She refused to make anymore noise than the grunt though the agony made her eyes water. She hesitated only long enough for Dean's hand to brush across her shoulder before she shoved herself away, forcing through the pain of damaged joints and strained muscles. Another stumble before she was up on her feet and stalked a few stiff steps away before going still and stubbornly planting her weight firmly on both feet.

She tensed when she heard and sensed movement behind her.

Dean lifted his hand, palm out, warning Jen and Eric to stay put. He had to glare at the latter as Eric eased himself back down onto his butt in the dirt.

Dean's hands dropped to drape his arms bonelessly off his knees. He watched Celia's hand lift to dig into the sweat and blood tangled hair at her temple. She shivered violently and unstable, she looked ready to collapse but stayed upright.

Dean waited a few seconds before licking his lips and speaking quietly. "Might want to sit, M'amin. You need your knees… especially with those late foals hitting the dirt in the next month."

A bitter, ugly scoff of a laugh slipped over her shoulder but Celia didn't turn or react more than that. Dean waited another few seconds before starting again.

"Specifically with Delta. You… you said you'd help me get him over the water jumps by October. You'll need those knees… the way he spooks at water."

Another breathy sigh of pain rattled in Celia's lungs and Dean waited quietly.

"Did I kill anybody?"

Dean ground his teeth at the lack of separation of Celia's self from Tashuunka. But he didn't call her out.

"The truck." Dean motioned tiredly to where the Silverado was crumpled on its side in the dirt. Celia's head snapped up and she twisted to look at Dean over her shoulder before following his gaze to her truck.

"Hellfire."

The word came out like a weak mix of a snarl and whimper.

The noise slipped from Celia's chest like and arrow pulled from a wound, absolute grief stricken. Her hands dropped from her hair and she stiffly started across the dirt towards the twisted metal. She stumbled once but kept going, limping heavily. Dean, Eric and Jen watched as she crossed until her chest and stomach were pressed against the exposed underside of the truck. Her hands passed over the dented fiberglass and steel like it was the sides of one of favorite cowponies euthanized. She folded her arms to rest on the side of bed and dropped her chin on her folded arms. Her eyes shut and she went still.

Eric and Jen kept their eyes on Celia as Dean dropped her head to look at the earth between his legs.

"Who's Delta?" Eric asked quietly, Dean lifted his eyes to look at the Quantum Ranger.

"Delta Blues… he's an Oldenburg stud Celia got me for my birthday in January."

"Oldenburg?" Eric prompted. "Doesn't sound like a cow breed."

"He's a seventeen and a half hand Eventer. Sport-Hack type."

"You're an Eventer?" Eric asked in quietly controlled surprise.

"I also play classical piano." Dean said quietly, pushed himself up and stiffly started after Celia. Eric watched him go before Jen caught his eye.

"What's an Eventer?" she asked, her voice was cracked, a rasp of air.

"What, you never watch the Olympics in the future?" Eric muttered, rolling his stiff shoulders.

"Little busy getting trained to protect the world." Jen spat back sarcastically. "Which one is Eventer stuff?"

"Eventing. It's called Eventing. It's the three with horses."

"Horses aren't in the Olympics." Jen bit out. "People keep them for exotic pets if at all. Not sports."

Eric hid his surprise with a controlled snort. Horses kept only for exotic pets? Like rabbits or designed lap dogs? Like fashion objects? The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Eventers are elitist athletes, horse and rider." Eric relayed emotionlessly as he got stiffly to his feet to follow in Dean's wake. Jen pushed herself up and followed along with the two German Shepherds, Buckshot and Valentine trotting on her heels. When the two Rangers reached the company of the two Hunters Celia was hugging herself and casting a long sorrowful look up at the elder Winchester as Dean tried to comfort her without physical contact.

Dean stopped speaking and looked up but Celia's eyes instantly hit the dirt. For a few long seconds silence lingered before Celia sniffed and cleared her throat and looked up at the two Rangers.

"I'm sorry---"

"For what?" Jen asked casually.

Celia cocked her head.

"For saving my ass back there?" the Pink Ranger continued, "That vampire was about to tear me apart."

"Did the same for be back at my place." Eric shrugged and suppressed a flinch of pain. "Didn't apologize then."

Celia looked between the two Rangers, then her eyes fell to the earth with a shallow painful sigh.

One arm stayed tightly wrapped around her chest, the other lifted to pass shakily over her face then to the back of her neck.

"What I did---"

"Wasn't you." Eric's tone cut sharply across Celia's words. His statement was not to be argued with. "I don't sugar coat anything," he added, "I tell it like it is. That wasn't you."

Celia waited a breath. "I---"

"Red," Jen protested calmly. "I'm the first one to admit that this whole time I thought it was you. I thought that _you _where this animal that Dean and Sam had a loose leash on. But I looked… _it_ in the eyes…"

Celia flinched and seemed to shrink in on herself, her eyes went from the dirt at her feet to the dusty and mud streaked boots and jeans Dean wore.

"I thought… handling Ransik… I'd seen evil incarnate. But… those eyes…" Jen bit her lower lip, unable to find the right words.

"Dante couldn't write it," Eric supplied. "When that thing reared up _you _ceased to exist."

"I've been there," Jen said, "Nothing like that... but out of control, watching my hands hurt people I love and not having any way to stop it... I felt guilty, ashamed, all of that. But Wes and the others were right, that wasn't _me."_ She raised her chin slightly, keeping her eyes on Celia.

Celia kept her eyes on Dean's boots and shivered once.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back." Dean leaned toward her, whispering in Celia's ear, his lips barely brushed the sensitive flesh if the shell. One of his hands lifted to trace her jaw before testing the boundaries of trust as he let his fingertips skim over her skin across her cheek to the side of her nose. His touch followed along the side of her nose and out across the ridge of her eyebrow. He swept a few strands of matted hair behind her ear.

Celia didn't seem to respond to the stimulation. Dean let out a small sound of frustration before he dropped his head to press his cheek into her temple and whispered quietly.

"You can't scare me like that. You _have _to come back. Got it? _Please always_ come back to me."

Celia's eyes slid shut and she let out a shuddering sigh. Her only response was to lean into his touch when Dean pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. Dean let out a relieved breath at that small reaction.

"_Mitiwa M'amin._" Dean declared quietly. "My Appaloosa."

The red head let out a broken, exhausted sigh. The hand pressed into the back of her neck pulled away, reaching out to card into Dean's hair while her eyes stayed on his boots. Affectionately tugging at the short strands and pressing the heel of her palm into his ear.

Dean's face and body relaxed as a small smile tugged at his lips.

It stayed in place until Celia's hand pulled away from the contact and she rubbed her fingers through her hair and looked around.

The albino Shepherd pressed passed Eric's legs to get to Celia. The large dog whined and looked up at her expectantly and only wagged his tail when the red head passed her hand comfortingly over the dog's ears. Valentine passed a few strokes of his tongue over Celia's wrist then made room for Buckshot to do the same.

Celia cast her eyes around, catching Dean's gaze for a second. The taller man made a small nod and she followed the direction to the sight of her twisted and upset toolbox.

"Right." She sighed.

"Yeah." Dean agreed.

"What?" Jen asked.

"Got to try and salvage out of the box. That's all my gear." Celia reasoned, her eyes were fixed on the task but she didn't make the movement to begin until Dean had taken the first step of the lead.

---

An hour later, the deep rumble of old muscle thundered across the desert as Dean drove, both hands on the wheel, his eyes set on the path in front of him, trying to forget the past as the dirt flew up behind the Impala. Beside him, Celia slumped with her head resting on his shoulder, dozing fitfully; she muttered and moaned painfully with each bump, but already her wounds were beginning to heal themselves. Even as Dean watched, a gash on her wrist gradually came back together, leaving behind a thin scar... he swore violently, then tore his gaze from her and stared back out the windshield.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, his hand over the one Celia had laying limply on the younger man's knee, both giving and taking protection and comfort from the touch. His window was cracked a few inches, and though he was chilled, Sam relished the feel of the air blowing against his face; he closed his heavy-lidded eyes, put his head against the glass, and tried to find sleep again.

Jen and Eric didn't say a word from their spots in the back, didn't look at each other, and barely moved; she sat on one side, he on the other, as far away as people could be, sitting just two feet away.

Between them Buckshot sat vigilantly on his haunches, ears perked forward and tongue lolling out of his slack jaws. Valentine had curled himself awkwardly half on the gap next to Buckshot and half across Eric's lap. The dog's ears were pressed back as the Quantum Ranger's hand passed absently over Valentine's skull.

Silently, Dean leaned across Celia to turn the cassette player on, smiling contentedly as an old song crackled to life and filled the car; Celia stirred, but only seemed to nestle closer to Dean, and Sam never twitched. Jen leaned back to look over Buckshot's shoulder at Eric, finding her mouth suddenly dry as she tried to speak:

"I was wrong about you... "

His head snapped to the side quickly, and for a moment she was put off by his bold stare. "No you weren't," he replied, his voice even, emotionless.

Jen shook her head, wincing ever-so-slightly. "Tonight... you really put yourself on the line for Red," she said, "I've never seen you do anything... for someone else. It's always been about you. But you really came through, and this time you didn't have anything to gain."

"Other than... not being killed by a demon?" Eric said, dryly. This stomach tightening with each second that slipped between them, his jaw clenching tightly.

Jen rolled her eyes. "I wasn't talking about the fight," she said, just as tersely. "You stayed, you helped bring her back, and I saw the look in your eyes... you were worried about her. You cared." A corner of her mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. "Eric Myers actually put someone else first. Was that a first time?"

"First," Eric said, "... and last time." He looked away, out the window and to the desert that was slowly coming to life as the sun rose. "Don't start counting on it."

Jen snorted softly. "Wouldn't dream of it... "

…


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**…**

_**The Clock Tower**_ _**7:13 AM**_

The Impala rumbled into silence as Dean killed the engine in the tiny parking lot of the scorched and damaged Clock Tower; the elder Winchester let out a tightly held sigh and as he slumped back against the supple leather of his seat, the petite redhead next to him sat up straight. He instantly missed the warmth of her curled against his side.

"Been awake for awhile?" he whispered the question.

"For awhile," Celia agreed. She leaned forward and rubbed her hands across her face before wrapping her arms tightly across her stomach; the battle wounds that were only a few hours old had all mostly turned into jagged scars, the bruises on her face were fading away.

Dean nodded and looked passed her to the slouched form of Sam against the passenger door and window; Sam slept on though the Impala had gone still, the arch of his neck and back promising the younger Winchester pain when he roused himself.

Celia's narrow chest filled in a half breath before she let it out in a rattling sigh, the sound clinked and clattered like a quarter in a can. A slight movement over her right shoulder made her twist to look into the backseat, her blood red eyes met glazed chocolate ones; Eric didn't speak, just looked back at her with a lifted eyebrow and a mask set in place on his pale and pain pinched face. The younger man stayed still until Celia gave him the slightest twitch of a smile.

Eric's eyes flicked to Dean's green, asking the same wordless question.

Dean's head dipped slightly, the barest of a nod.

A sickly pass of air slipped out of Eric's throat and he slumped completely back against the seat, his eyes falling shut as he shivered once violently; his breathing went to ragged and harsh noises, wet wheezes as the young man let the reality of his damaged body take over, too exhausted to fight it off any longer. The ugly breathing evened out as Eric allowed himself to slip into a semi conscious state, too deep to be sleep and too light to be pure unconsciousness.

"Eric?"

Jen's voice cracked with pain and slight alarm, she shifted up, wincing, and tried to move toward the Quantum Ranger. She'd watched the exchanged with a slowly processing mind that jumped into action when Eric had gone limp.

"Easy, Jen," Dean said quietly, stretching an arm over the back of his seat and settling his large hand on her upper chest, he pushed her gently back into her seat. "He's all right. He needs to rest... and he feels safe enough to do it now. "

Jen allowed herself to be guided back down. "Safe?" the Pink Ranger asked dully.

"He trusts us to protect him," Celia supplied, lifting a hand to smooth it over her tangled hair. "He deserves more than that. All of ya do. Hell of a job out there. Y'all fought like Hunters, did what ya didn't want, sacrificed thin's 'bout yerself ya never should have." Her voice took on a dreamy quality, trailing away as if she had no control over it; Jen fixed her eyes on Celia, listening to the small redhead think out loud. Jen had gotten used to Celia being quietly cryptic, or out and out silent, she watched in mild fascination as Celia stumbled through rebuilding herself.

Dean shifted around and flipped open the glove compartment before digging through it and pulling out a slim, red cell phone and a folded bit of leather. "Glasses," he said, handing her the folded leather.

"Thanks. I'm startin' to get a headache." Celia pulled the pair of small-framed glasses free of the pouch and slid them onto her face.

"Back up cell." Dean offered the red object. "Catgut Steven's number is in there."

"Yay... " Celia droned out sarcastically as she flipped the phone open and scrolled through the numbers. She absently followed Dean as she climbed out of the Impala, reaching back to grab her Stetson hat. She stepped away, pinning the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she brushed flyaway hair back over her skull and set the hat firmly on her head, effectively hiding the short set of ram's horns at her hair line from any prying eyes.

Dean turned and pulled the back door open to allow Jen out of the backseat, swiftly followed by the two German Shepherds. Jen stood, looking between Dean, Celia and the Impala, unsure what to do.

"Let's go check on the rest of the Lollipop Guild," Dean sighed as he swung the door shut. Sam jumped in his sleep but stayed still, Eric remained in his prone position; as Dean passed her he cast Celia a questioning look. She nodded to him and mouthed the word 'birds' before she greeted Catgut Stevens as the man picked up on the other end.

"Who's Catgut Stevens?' Jen asked, walking slowly at the larger man's side toward the Clock Tower.

"Part-time Hunter. He's big in the auto business. If you need help with your ride you either go to him or Bobby Singer. Personally I'd go with Bobby, but Celia's known Catgut since her dad was alive." Dean shrugged.

"He's going to find her another truck?"

"He'll do some quick leg work."

"How?" Jen asked stiffly, expecting something extremely illegal.

It seemed Dean could almost read her thoughts. "Favors and good transfers. The one thing Hunters don't fuck around with is the ride. You can't try anything illegal with something big like the car you're driving most of you life. All legit. 'Sides, Celia goes through a new truck about once every five years or so. She's got a cache for that necessity."

"A cache?"

"You'd be surprised what a really well-trained horse goes for these days." Dean shrugged and led the way through the backdoor of the Clock Tower. Jen winced at the sight of the fire damage blackening the wood and stone of the building she had called home for the past few months; she scanned for any damage that would have compromised the building, but it seemed solid enough to stand on its own, waiting for repair. _Over two hundred years old, and still going strong, _she reflected silently.

Dean stood back and allowed Jen to climb the stairs before following on her heels, his movements stiff and awkward; Jen heard the tight sound of pained breath slide out of his throat, she stopped and twisted to look back at him, ignoring the pain that spiked in the muscles of her back. The ache and throbs were fading slowly, spurred on by the Ranger powers. "You okay?" she asked.

"Nothing I haven't had before." Dean waved her on and forced her to continue forward by taking another step and crowding her.

"You're breathing strangely," Jen commented, side-stepping up the stairs slowly, effectively stalling the Hunter.

"Hadn't noticed. Move it, Butch," Dean growled Celia's nickname for the Pink Ranger and flashed his teeth warningly at her. Jen's face twisted slightly, refraining from falling to the primal practice of baring her teeth but making sure Dean could read her unhappiness on her face.

"Why do all of you do that?" she demanded.

"What?" Dean sighed tiredly. He really did sound like he was a little winded, cracked ribs, maybe a broken one from the breathy way he was speaking and breathing...

"Show your teeth to people. Like a dog or something. Red does it all the time, saw Sam do it to you, you just did it to me. Eric did it to you. Why?"

Dean's brow furrowed and he cocked his head slightly. "What the Hell are you talking about…"

"Never mind. I'll rack it up to the job." Jen waved him off impatiently and finished the climb up the stairs in silence. She breathed a sigh of relief when she hit the landing that opened into the floor of the living space the Rangers had claimed as their own, she was glad to see it mostly untouched by the explosion and fire. The wood was blackened here and there, a sickly, foul smelling haze of smoke still lingered in the air and on their sparse furniture.

"Jen."

Lucas' voice cracked a little, he cleared it roughly as he shoved his way up from the corner of the couch.

"Jen," he said again, "Dean. Everything alright?" The Blue Ranger cast a look toward the other three; Trip was still sprawled out across the cot, Katie had pressed herself into one corner of the couch and had a melting ice pack pressed into her face, the collar and chest of her shirt were soaked with blood and water. Wes had rolled onto his side and curled up slightly into a fetal position, though his face was pinched in pain and he looked uncomfortable.

"Probably not but no one's in danger," Jen assured, her brown eyes fixed on Wes, but before she could move Dean slipped passed her to the Red Ranger's side. His hands rested on Wes' shoulder, gently rousing him from his sleep. "C'mon, Princess, roll over," he coaxed quietly. "On your back."

Wes flinched and gasped quietly and wetly when Dean's hand lighted on his shoulder, the other pressed into his lower back to soften the impact of sore muscles onto the wood. "Sam…" Wes slurred, his weight almost dead as Dean gently tugged him to roll onto the flat of his back.

"No. It's the handsome one," Dean teased quietly, looking down at Wes' glassy eyes. Dean leaned forward and pushed one of Wes' eyelids further open. "What's your name?"

"Wes... "

"Full name," Dean prompted.

"Wesley Collins... " Wes licked his lips thickly and rasped for breath, each pass of air sounded like a wet wheeze.

"What's my name?"

"Dean Winchester... "

"What's thirty two minus nineteen?"

"Hang on... uh... thirteen... "

"Atta boy," Dean praised quietly and rested a firm hand on Wes' shoulder, sending a small bubble of comfort through the younger man. "Wes, your breathing is kind of wet. I know you have some broken ribs. I'm going to see if one of the floaters punctured a lung, all right?"

The look in Wes' crystal blue eyes held little to no comprehension of what Dean was saying, but he still managed a mumble of consent.

"What's wrong?" Jen asked, as she and Lucas crossed to stand on the other side of the picnic table.

"His breathing is wet," Dean said quietly. "Either one of his lungs is punctured or fluid collected when he was on his side." He lightly flipped back the quilt then gently pushed Wes' red shirt up, Jen and Lucas winced at the blossoms of blue, purple and red across Wes' torso. Dean sighed and lightly ghosted his hands over the discolored flesh. Wes jumped and gasped in pain.

"Easy, Princess," Dean mumbled in a tone that could only be described as brotherly. Dean's large, calloused hands flitted over Wes' ribs, finding, counting and following the dip of each break along his ribcage until he was satisfied. "All right, Wes," he said finally, "None of them are dipped low enough to puncture. Stay on your back, you can't let fluid build up in your lungs."

"'Kay... " Wes muttered, his eyes already drooping.

"Is he going to be all right?" a slight, teenage voice squeaked.

Dean glanced up. Trip and Katie had roused themselves and had crowded in close; Trip looked bleary and a little unsteady and Katie's face was puffy and damp but not full out swollen. Her nose was dipped and skewed slightly, clearly Sam's work resetting.

"Sam said he had a concussion," Dean said, "Seems like it's passed, he's pretty clear headed, given the circumstances... the ribs aren't floating too much, and other than looking like mince meat, yeah... I've seen people survive way worse than this." He tilted his head slightly. "And he's a sturdy kid, with superhuman powers, so yeah... that'll help."

"Eric and Celia are all right?" Katie prompted.

"No," Dean said flatly. "But they'll recover."

"Are you all right?" Trip asked.

Dean grunted a reply before turning, he spotted the small wire cage that housed Eric's finches, he gingerly lifted the cage, carrying it under his arm and heading stiffly and slowly back down the stairs. The small group looked toward Jen.

She shook her head slightly. "I don't think he is."

---

Dean stepped out of the Clock Tower and into clean, free moving air, he sucked in a deep breath, wincing as his torso expanded, but walked around to where the Impala was parked. Buckshot and Valentine were sprawled casually on the asphalt in the shadow of the Impala. The driver's side doors were open, letting air pass over Sam and Eric curled in the frame of steel.

Celia had the red cell phone pinned between her shoulder and ear, Sam's laptop was open and humming quietly where Celia had perched it on the roof of the Impala directly over the passenger side window. Celia had arched herself over the open window, her fingers ghosting over the keyboard while she negotiated over the phone line.

Sam's head was rolled out of the open window, the temple and cheek of one side of his face was pressed into the top of the door and he watched Celia moving above him with a half lidded eye. Sam's cerulean orb followed her smallest movements, tracking them like a true Hunter, but there was no energy or power behind the observations. Sam's limp frame pressed into the door and sprawled across the front seat.

Dean ducked his head to look at Eric. The Quantum Ranger was curled up protectively around his core and was pressed tightly into the corner of the seat and door.

Dean moved around to stand next to Celia, he set the cage on the asphalt next to their feet; he looked over her shoulder to see the internet connected to two pages, one was the Kelly Blue Book the other layered on top was a secure finance page that was wired into an account that Dean recognized the serial numbers for her cache.

He listened in as the negotiation rolled down to an end.

"All right... I really appreciate this, Catgut," Celia sighed tiredly. "This one really was my own doin'... I know. Naw, I don't mind too much. Beggars and all that. I'll take it... all right it's a done deal. I send it on. Thanks, Catgut." She hesitated another few seconds before snapping the phone shut and tucking it into her pocket, making a few quick clicks on the computer.

Celia sighed and looked up at Dean, lifting a hand to run through the strands of hair hanging out from under her Stetson. Sam watched them dully as he drifted in and out of sleep and waking.

Dean lifted his head slightly, asking without words.

"Got one," Celia sniffed.

"How long?"

"Sixteen hours." Celia shrugged one shoulder. "He knows a guy in the area. He'll do the custom rig, too."

"Sixteen hours isn't bad."

"Was fifty two for the Silverado." Her eyes flicked downward for a second, seemingly mourning the loss of the truck once again. "Catgut said the guy was good. Said he's goin' to wake some people up and throw some weight around."

Dean nodded. "Damage?"

"Forty grand. Three for the custom."

Dean made a slight face and below them Sam grunted.

"Gotta be the big truck, Dean. I don't like it anymore than ya." Celia sighed loudly again. "But it's got to pull the weight, Huntin' and horses."

Dean perked at the annoyed and even pained noise that tinged her tone. "What?"

Celia groaned softly.

"What's the matter, Celia?' Dean prompted.

"It's a Dodge," Sam mumbled below them, eyes still closed even as he spoke.

Dean winced and looked sympathetically at Celia. "A _Dodge?"_

"Catgut promised I'd like it." Celia shrugged a shoulder. "They doin' all right up there?"

Dean cast his eyes toward the Clock Tower. "No one needs a hospital... not yet anyway, we'll have to keep an eye on Wes. You want to--- ?"

"No," Celia said flatly. "No... um…"

Dean waited while the petite redhead stumbled a little.

"Listen... I want to take the Kid back to his place. Patch him up there. Be good for him to wake up in his own bed." Celia sighed tiredly. "His place is probably trashed but still… "

"He's got an SUV there, right?"

Celia nodded, lifting blood eyes to meet green.

"I'll drive you over, give you a hand, and Sam can stay. Then you and me. All right?"

Celia sighed.

"All right?"

The redhead dipped her gaze down to meet Sam's half lidded eye, the younger Winchester nodded slightly.

"Done. But I'm not leavin' the Kid for more than an hour."

Dean sighed.

"It's a poor choice but he trusts _me_ to keep him safe, Dean." She shook her head, gazing down at the unconscious Eric with a sort of sisterly affection in her eyes. "He's had a lot of people let him down... I'm not goin' to be added to that list."

"All right," Dean agreed, he looked up as Lucas and Jen walked toward them. "You five going to be okay for awhile?"

"You leaving?" Jen prompted, just as stiffly as she was walking.

"We're goin' to take Eric back to his place and patch him up. Put him in his own bed. Post somebody there, then head back." Celia said this all with her head dipped so she didn't have to look the two Rangers in the eye.

"Here." Dean slipped his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it to Jen. "If you need us sooner just call."

"All right," Jen agreed with a nod and pocketed the cell phone. "We'll be fine."

"Keep Buck," Celia offered, motioning toward the black and tan dog. Buckshot rolled to his feet before stepping over to sit quietly at Jen's hip.

"All right," the Pink Ranger repeated, almost dully.

She and Lucas watched as Celia closed the laptop and passed it to Sam before following on Dean's heels around the Impala; Sam shifted up and leaned out of the window, he hooked his hands around the birdcage and smoothly lifted it through the window and down into the footwell of the passenger seat. The elder Winchester slid into the driver's seat as Celia opened the back to let the albino German Shepherd in the backseat before following.

Jen and Lucas lifted their hands in slight waves as Dean cranked the engine to life and reversed to pull out of the parking lot.

---

_**Silver Ring Motel**_

_**8:35 AM**_

Dean walked ahead of Celia to unlock the door to the room, she lingered back a few feet with the medical kit tucked under her arm, still in Hunting mode, looking around and braced for an attack; the door swung open and Dean stepped aside to allow her to go in first, only then did she allow herself to relax, once inside the relative safety of the dimly-lit, cluttered motel room.

The hardwood floor still bore the scorch marks of the corpse thrown through the main window by vampires or cyclobots. The window itself was a few large, jagged shards lodged in the frame and broken bits clustered on the floor, crunching under their weight. Celia made a few swift passes of her boot across the floor, effectively sweeping the broken glass against the wall. A light, morning breeze carried a slight chill and the scent of lightening and rain threatening from somewhere off the ocean. The air passed freely through the broken window and rippled the fabric of the curtains.

The red head set the kit on the floor next to one of the beds then moved to the kitchenette to pull down a large plastic bowl, she filled it with warm water and pulled a small, white towel from the counter and crossed back towards the bed with the water.

Dean moved unsteadily toward the table lamp, flipped the switch and turned it on, then sank down onto the bed and began to free himself from the bloodstained, torn jacket he was wearing; Celia watched him for a second before setting the bowl on the floor, going over to him and helping him undress, tossing the jacket aside and kneeling on the floor to remove his boots. Dean scowled, trying to brush her hands away as he bent over to reach his feet; a stab of pain cut him short and prompted a low moan from deep in his throat that brought Celia's attention up to his face. Her lips formed a thin line and her jaw set in determination, her eyes were hard.

"Let me do it," She said, firmly.

Dean sighed and sat straight up again, relieving the pressure and the pain that bending over had caused; he placed a hand on his left side and pressed lightly on the tender ribs beneath his skin, wincing and grunting again.

"Stop fidgetin'," Celia scolded, throwing a boot over her shoulder and rising to climb into the bed with him. She knelt next to him, sitting back on her boot heels. "Yer only makin' it worse for yerself... probably should shower first anyway…"

"I'm fine... " Dean protested weakly, again trying to remove her hands as they criss-crossed over his body with expert's ease. His attempt was half-hearted. Her touch was feather light, the calloused and tanned leather of her hands softened to a touch reserved for frightened colts. Her finger tips left trails of warmth across his skin and sank in to sooth his soul.

"Yer beat to Hell," Celia replied, her own face contorting with a flinch as she pulled Dean's shirt over his head, she let it drop to the floor with a muffled slap, and surveyed the damage before mopping blood, sweat and dirt from his flesh with the towel and warm water. Ugly bruises in various shades of purple and red, a minor cut here, a still-oozing-blood gash there needed stitches; his knuckles were raw, his palms scalded from the Silverado's engine fire, the index finger of his left hand was bent at an awkward angle that was most certainly meant it was broken. Wordlessly, Celia set the finger back in place and wrapped it tightly with the remaining supplies they had left; Dean's eyes grew heavier and heavier as the process went on, and he gradually began to sink down onto the bed. He rested his head on the pillow as Celia traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, from his ear to his chin, hesitating at his swollen lip to gently wipe away the dried blood and place a butterfly bandaid over a cut on his chin. His breath caught in his throat painfully when she touched his swollen, bruised cheek with a trembling hand, as if trying to transfer some of the demon's healing power into him.

"Am I gonna make it, Doc?" Dean asked, softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"One of these days, Dean... " Celia mumbled, " ...one of these days."

"I'll find out I'm not invincible?" Dean said, dryly, forcing his eyes open to look at her.

Celia tried to speak, but found no words, and instead looked down at the older Winchester brother fondly; his head was now resting comfortably on the ratty pillow, and his green eyes stared up at her through half-closed lids. He was pale, exhausted and weak, and the freckles that danced across his nose and cheeks stood out in sharp contrast; his dirty blond hair was sticking up at all angles, and she couldn't contain the smirk that formed on her lips. "Ya look like Hell," she sighed, cupping his face with her hand for a second, her thumb brushed back and forth over the sensitive skin under his eye.

" ...I feel great," Was his sarcastic reply.

"We're gettin' too old for this shit."

_"You _are."

Celia lightly punched his arm playfully, then scooted closer to him and stretched out on her side, facing him. One arm draped over his chest lightly, minding his breath of pain, and her head resting comfortably on his shoulder; his skin was hot to the touch, but it felt good against her cheek. And she relished the rhythm of his breath... in and out, in and out... there was such comfort in the touch, and the sounds, like nothing could touch either of them while they lay in each other's arms. It had been like that their whole lives, ever since they were children. Dean and Celia... inseparable.

Suddenly, a rush of emotion strangled her and brought hot tears to her eyes, she shut her eyes tightly, trying to disguise and hold them at bay; her breath came out in short gasps as she tried to get herself under control. Dean shifted, turning his head to look at her, his eyes now wide and alert: "What's wrong?" he demanded, "Are you hurt?"

" ...no," Celia whispered, annoyed and embarrassed. "I'm fine."

"You're... crying."

"The Hell I am!" She snorted.

"Celia... M'amin… " Dean's voice was soft, but still firm, probing her and demanding answers; he propped himself up on one elbow, grunted in pain, then reached out and stroked a strand of hair from her forehead. "You still thinking about it all?" he asked, gently, "'Cuz I don't know how many more times I can say it wasn't your fault... "

"No. I'm not thinkin' 'bout that... " Celia turned away from his touch, letting out a frustrated breath. "Turn it loose, Dean."

Dean put his hand on her chin and tugged it to the side, forcing her to meet his gaze again; his green eyes were steel, hard and unwavering. "I'm not gonna 'turn it loose'," he ground out, "We're way beyond that by now, don't you think?"

Celia pressed her lips together, the muscles in her jaw twitching.

"I've known you all my life... " Dean continued, "Be honest with me." His face twisted in pain for a moment as he shifted again, but he silenced Celia with his fingertip before she could speak. "Besides... I can't stand seeing you unhappy. You and Sam... you two are my weaknesses. You know that."

Celia focused on the crooked smile on Dean's lips and found herself smiling in return, staring up at him through tear-filled eyes. A moment passed between the two of them as they stared at each other in complete silence, Dean patiently waiting for Celia to find the words...

"Three months," she rasped, her voice hardly more than a breath.

Dean inhaled sharply and held it for a moment; finally letting it out, he rolled onto his back again and lay at her side, still and silent. They breathed in unison for a minute or two, skin-to-skin, both enjoying the sensations that came over them by the close contact they shared... but both also now focused entirely on the short time they had left with each other.

" ... yeah," Dean sighed, "Three months."

"I can't let ya die."

"Celia--- "

"I can't let ya go to Hell!" Celia shook her head as she sat up quickly, too high-strung to keep still on the bed; she wiped her eyes and scrubbed her face, then looked at Dean, her voice strong, without a hint of tears. "I won't."

Dean sat up slowly, one arm wrapped around his middle while the other held him upright; he shook his head slightly. "You will," he responded, his voice quiet, with just an edge of a warning to it. "I'm going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it." As her eyes cast downward, he lowered his chin to meet her gaze again. "Sam's life depends on it... I won't let you do anything to risk him. You understand me?"

"Ya can't expect me to sit back an' not do anythin'!" Celia barked bitterly, eyes flashing dangerously as her temper rose.

"That's exactly what you'll do!" Dean snapped back.

"Fuck that!" She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood quickly, face flushed red and eyes ablaze with fury, lips curled to bare wolf like teeth at him; Dean remained on the bed, part-angry, part-amused watching her. And another part regret, sadness... he knew what it was doing to her, having to wait for him to die, helpless to stop it.

But that was how it had to be.

"No." Celia looked back at him, over her shoulder, her arms crossed. She snorted like an angry mare. "I cain't. I _won't."_

Now Dean got to his feet and rushed to her, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, giving her a little shake. "You listen to me," he snarled, "You _will _let me die! I won't let you try to stop it... " His voice failed him as he looked into her eyes and saw the pain and fear reflected in them, his grip on her softened, and he found himself rubbing her arms gently, trying to offer some comfort. "I'm sorry... "

"Damn it, Dean."

"You'll be okay," he assured her, " ...you don't need me."

Celia scoffed--- a harsh, bitter sound that felt like a dull knife piercing Dean's gut.

"You _don't," _he insisted, "You're stronger than that... stronger than me. You'll get through this, I know it." He tried to smile, and Celia nearly laughed at the pitiful attempt. "Just let me go," Dean whispered, "Let me go... and move on."

"Move on?... move on… Dean Winchester I fell in love with ya when I was six years old. How in Hellfire am I supposed to 'move on'? It's not like one of my studs droppin' off. I cain't go to an auction and settle for some colt that has a like throw of his head or coat color."

"Celia-"

"Dean… yer the only man that knows what I am and doesn't look at me like I'm a wolf on a chain. And ya want me to just… let ya go?"

"Yes."

Celia's shivered violently at the admission.

"It' not fair… but yes. It sounds terminal… but you have three months to do it. I want you to let me go." The next smile was real but tasted bitter, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his green orbs took on a mischievous twinkle. "And kiss me."

Celia rolled her eyes, exasperated. "No."

"Kiss me."

"No!"

His hand shot up and gripped the back of her head, pulling her hair, and before she could even utter a protest his mouth was crushing hers; she moaned, half in protest and half in pleasure, then gave in--- not a surrender, no, instead she met the challenge full-force. She tasted him, and explored him, deepened the kiss 'til she felt the floor cave in beneath her feet and her world turned upside down; she was on fire, and she felt him shudder against her body, just as moved as she was. Her hands clasped his cheeks then slid back to card in his hair, her hips instinctively moved toward him as his hands slid down her waist to grip them, his fingers digging in deep.

Then he gasped--- an unmistakable sound of pain ---and pulled away.

"Shit. Dean... "

"I'm okay." But the way he was half bent over, clutching his ribs, his face pinched and pale, said otherwise; Celia frowned, then grabbed his arm and carefully eased him back onto the bed. "Take it easy," she said, softly, "Yer in bad shape... should've spent more time lookin' ya over instead of fightin'."

"We've always... been good at that," Dean wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah... we're good at that other stuff, too." The twinkle was in her eyes now, as she slid her hand up his bare chest and brought it to his face; her thumb brushed his eyebrow and traced his cheekbone, her fingers ran over his lips and then fluttered across his jaw.

Dean blinked slowly, then one of his hands covered hers against his face and slid it around until he pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.

"I love you, M'amin."

She swallowed, hard, and fought down the emotions that bubbled up in her once again; instead, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead, then trailed her lips down his cheek, and to his lips. A gentle, tender kiss.

"_Tehila ti a_ Dean... "

---

_**Residence of Eric Myers**_

_**9:12 AM**_

Eric's nostrils flared slightly and he sucked in deeply, he assessed his world by scent; alcohol lingered and mixed with the bitter, copper scent of blood, antiseptic and clean cotton. The Quantum Ranger slit his eyes open and watched the plays of light and shadows on familiar walls. He waited, purposefully keeping his breathing even before opening his eyes fully and letting the pattern quicken. He looked around, drinking in the bedroom.

_His_ bedroom.

From what he remembered of the sounds of the vampire pack tearing it apart two days before it was surprising how little damage was done. The biggest thing he noticed was his window was broken out and that several of the dresser drawers were in a small pile of splinters. The contents of those drawers were heaped into a canvas duffle to be laundered.

He was alone. Dumped back in his room. An unbelievably massive bubble of emotional pain curled into his chest. Abandonment. He'd trusted them and they'd ditched him in his destroyed house... he took a deep, wet breath before pushing himself up to sit, pain shot through his torso but he controlled the yelp that threatened his throat. The bed next to him shifted and a soft whine rose as the albino German Shepherd rolled up onto his paws and twisted around to stand on the mattress next to Eric.

Valentine leaned around to lick Eric's face as the young man dug his fingers into the thick, snowy fur; he let out a shuddering breath as the knot of ache dissolved instantly. The bitter bite of abandonment and loss flooded out of him as he clung to the physical connection between himself and the Hunters.

Valentine whined softly and allowed the borderline painful tugging to continue without protest.

Eric waited a few seconds for the ache to subside completely, to be replaced by physical pain; he kept one hand firmly hooked into Valentine's fur as he inspected himself. His torso was bare of a shirt, his ribcage wrapped tightly and expertly with thick, cotton bandages to hold his broken and cracked ribs in place. His left bicep sported a similar bandage, a small ridge along the cotton shadowed the neat stitches keeping the flesh together underneath. He was wearing a different pair of jeans. The way they fit he was sure they were another of Dean's pair. He lifted a hand to ruffle his hair, it was still damp, every spans of skin Eric could see was clean, blossoming with bruises. But washed.

They'd gone the whole nine to strip and scrub him down before patching him back together. When he moved, Eric felt the tight pull of stitches in other, unseen places on his frame; he glanced over at his bedside table and felt a small smile pull at his lips at the sight of the birdcage and his two finches fluffed and pressed together on one of the perches, sleeping peacefully.

Eric lifted his hand again to trace his fingers lightly over the bruised flesh of his throat. He could still feel Celia's fingers wrapped around his windpipe, intending to crush the life from him...

Eric pushed himself up from the bed and walking stiffly on bare feet across his bedroom floor, Valentine dropped to the floor and followed dutifully along behind him as he passed out of the room and down the hall into the main room. He expected the worse and was somewhat surprised---several vital pieces of furniture were missing altogether, replaced by two large trash bags; the broken glass had been swept up and the torn rug rolled and pushed against the wall for disposal. He was missing a few plants and the twisted remains of his metal birdcage was set on the floor next to the trash bags. The television set on top of its stand sported a set of spiderweb cracks across the screen, distorting the image of Han Solo and Chewbacca maneuvering through space.

"Worst of it is out on the lawn."

Eric turned toward the calm, raspy voice.

Sam's massive frame was draped into one corner of Eric's couch, one of his boots propped up on the coffee table, which was cracked down the center but still in a single piece; his fingers were wrapped loosely around the neck of a beer bottle and his eyes were fixed on the movie playing through cracked screen. His own hair was damp and his clothes had changed to a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans.

"Furniture and stuff. Your kitchen table, the arm chair, stuff like that. We put it on the curb for you."

"Thanks," Eric rasped back.

"I used your shower, too. You have hot water. Couldn't resist." Sam shrugged and lifted the bottle to drink quietly.

"That's fine," Eric agreed. He was starting to feel a little light-headed, but he stayed put instead of retreating back to his bed like he would have preferred.

"You're so cool," Sam sighed and looked up at him for the first time. "All six Star Wars on VHS. That's just awesome." Sam turned his eyes back to the screen.

Eric lifted a hand to ruffle his short hair and sighed quietly, feeling a rush of heat to his face, embarrassment. He cleared his throat roughly. "Red and Dean?"

"Went to do Red and Dean stuff." Sam shrugged again. "I'm not complaining. They left beer and drugs." He lifted a bottle and tossed it toward Eric, the Quantum Ranger fumbled before catching it and reading over the name of a particularly strong painkiller.

"All right." Eric eased down to sit on the couch next to Sam as he popped two of the pills; Valentine climbed up between the two men and watched the movement on the screen with perked ears. Eric refused a beer, not wanting to put himself into the same kind of sedation Sam was driving toward.

"How long have they been gone?" he asked, aimlessly.

"Almost an hour... they'll be back." Sam sighed as he reached for the remote and turned the sound up a little louder.

Eric nodded, looked at the TV. "The Rangers are okay?" he assumed.

"They will be... Wes is pretty tore up, but he'll survive." Sam took another swig. "Those kids are tougher than I gave them credit for, at first."

"Yeah, I guess they are."

"You know... " Sam hit Pause, and turned to look at Eric, the bottle of beer poised at his lips. "You're better than I thought, too. You care more than you let people think... if you didn't, you wouldn't be willing to put your life on the line like you do. The Marines, the Silver Guardians--- "

"A job is a job," Eric cut him off.

"Uh-huh," Sam grunted, "You don't get paid for being a Ranger... and you didn't get paid for standing with us against those vamps. Or for helping Red. I guess what I'm getting at, what I'm trying to say is... thanks." He grinned. "Could be the drugs and alcohol making me talk, of course... but I still mean it."

Eric flushed, suddenly awkward and embarrassed.

"Just stop talking and watch the movie," he muttered.

Sam chuckled, and pressed the Play button.

* * *

**A/N: The words **_**'tehila ti a ---'**_** is Lakota Sioux roughly translated to mean '**_**I love you ---'**_** or **_**'to love very much ---'**_**. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen **

…

_**Residence of Eric Myers**_

_**10:24 AM**_

Eric's eyes snapped open when his front door groaned as it was pushed in; he fumbled, trying to force through the haze of painkillers and the sound of some sports broadcaster on his television. A slight panic took over when pain flared across his ribs, and he scrambled.

"Hey, Sammy."

Eric's tension crumbled instantly at the familiar tenor of Dean Winchester's throat. The Quantum Ranger took a few deep breaths of air to settle himself, let his eyes slide closed again, and allowed the haze to fade gradually instead of forcing it away by will.

"Hey. Dude. Padres are playing the Sox." Sam's voice rumbled to clear Eric's head further.

"Hell yes. Go Sox." Dean clapped his large hands together once. Eric listened to the sound of

Dean's boots crossing the room toward himself, Valentine and Sam on the couch.

"Val, down," Dean commanded, his voice sharp and leaving no room for protest, Eric felt the cushions move as the large dog complied. After a few seconds, pain shot through Eric's pelvis and torso as Dean jostled his knees to slide in between them and the coffee table. He gasped sharply, jerked his head up and glared violently at the elder Winchester, lips drawn back in a snarl.

"Sorry, man," Dean apologized, but his own face was twisted slightly with pain, one hand pressed tightly to his left side. Dean had showered recently, his hair was still damp and the scent of cheap bath soap floated off his skin; his torn and bloody clothes had been replaced by fresh jeans and a sage green T-shirt. The fabric of the shirt pressed into his chest to outline Dean's own layer of tight bandaging around his ribs.

Eric snorted softly, "Slow down. It's only baseball." He let his head fall back against the cushions.

He jumped out of his skin and yelped slightly when Dean punched him in his good shoulder.

"Baseball is _life_, kid," Dean growled and dropped his frame into the space between him and Sam.

Eric lifted a hand and sourly rubbed his shoulder, glaring at Dean out of the corner of his eye; his eyes flashed up and a bubble of comfort bobbed into his chest as he watched Celia ease down to sit lightly on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. One of her hands stretched out to rest over his on his shoulder.

"Don't talk 'bout the Pass-Time in front of Dean. He loves it," she warned with a small smile.

"Would've been nice to know before... " Eric mumbled.

"Used to play. High school mostly. Pitching position," Dean muttered, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"He was good," Sam assured Eric over his brother's head.

"Really?" Eric asked, his voice slightly tinged with sarcasm. Like what he really wanted was to hear about was Dean's adventures as the star pitcher for some obsure High School... and not pass out for a good fourteen hours, doped up on painkillers and hard liquor.

"Major League good. He was eighteen and had a ninety-seven mile an hour fast ball," Sam continued and ignored the glare Dean sent him. "He was getting scouted by Double A league and colleges. It was cool."

That peaked his interest a bit. "What happened?" Eric asked before Celia could stop him.

"Black Dog dislocated my shoulder, broke my shoulder plate, collar bone and shattered the ball joint," Dean ground out, his voice almost emotionless. "Team coach thought I was in a car accident; pulled some strings and some high-end sports doctor to do the surgery. But I lost it."

Eric cast a look at Celia, she was looking at Dean sorrowfully. Eric licked his lips thickly.

"Sorry. I didn't---"

"Doesn't matter." Dean shrugged and flinched slightly in pain. "I can get it up to seventy sometimes. Eighty if I really try… so what are we doing?"

"Well…" Celia lifted a hand and tugged at her ear. "Best I can figure… truck won't be ready until round midnight. Far as I can tell Ransik and his spawn won't be makin' an appearance anytime soon, the pack is dead so… sleep?"

"I vote sleep," Sam chimed with a lopsided grin. "Sleep."

"Sleep and food," Dean agreed. "Chinese… something like Chinese… Mongolian…"

Eric made a slight face at the elder Winchester before looking at Celia. "I can sleep."

The redhead nodded as she pulled out the red cell phone and hit a speed dial before hitting speaker and setting the phone down on the coffee table next to her. They waited until it clicked and a female voice echoed off the speaker.

"_Everything all right?"_

"It's fine, Jen, we're debating what to do right now," Sam said loudly from his place on the far end of the couch.

"_What to do?"_

"Right now we have three votes sleep and one vote food," Dean informed the Pink Ranger. "I voted twice."

"_Are those the only choices?"_

"Well, our usual range of choices are: sleep, food, hospital and home... but we have the fifth of clean up detail," Celia sighed tiredly.

'_Clean up?"_

"Somebody has to go out and torch the site. It's full of corpses and crushed up robot, including the Silverado. Sooner the better. Especially with the ground just soaked in our DNA. Someone comes on that scene we're screwed in a royal fashion," Dean muttered. He leaned back and rubbed a hand across his forehead.

"What's 'home'?" Eric rasped quietly.

"Wounded Heart," Sam sighed, a tired longing in his voice.

"_Wounded Heart?"_

"My family's ranch. Out in Tuscarora, Nevada. 'Bout a day's drive out of here," Celia said, her own tone dripped with homesickness.

Dean just let out a ragged sigh and licked his lips before taking a draw from his beer.

"_If we agreed… you would take us to Wounded Heart?"_

Dean and Sam immediately cast their eyes toward Celia. The redhead shrugged a shoulder. "I… I don't see why not. Far as I'm concerned y'all are welcome at the ranch."

Jen's end of the line stayed silent. The quiet stretched until the three Hunters were sure that Jen was debating asking for the road to Tuscarora.

"Listen, how 'bout this, Butch... if he's up for it get that green-haired pup ready. I'll come get him and he can help me torch the site. The rest of ya can order in and catch a few. I'll have a truck by midnight and we'll go from there. Agreed?" Celia lifted her eyes to look at Sam and Dean.

Dean looked long and hard at Celia, as if trying to read her before he nodded.

"Done," the elder Winchester agreed, with Sam nodding next to him.

"_All right, I'll talk to Trip… why Trip?"_

"Cause he's not a bruised, bloody mass of broken bones and pulled muscles," Celia reasoned and snapped the phone shut as she pushed up to her feet from the coffee table. "C'mon Eric, ya don't want to be here with them watchin' baseball. They get rough."

Had it been any other situation the Quantum Ranger would have rebelled, snorted and snapped back with sarcasm toward someone that suggested that they knew what he wanted. Anyone else would have been met with hostility.

But she'd had the chance to abandon him, send him to his death, the chance to crush him, taunt him, break him, reject him… hell, Celia had more than one chance to kill him herself. It was an ugly, internal struggle to accept that someone that had more than enough chance to destroy him had instead made the effort to keep him from harm. Eric hadn't been protected since he was a child... and even then, that sort of treatment only lasted a brief time.

Conflict churned in his gut. A shattered part of him wanted to be protected, but it was buried under reservation and pride, a trust that had been broken to many times and a fear of investing himself again; yielding himself up to vulnerability and the pain that could come with.

The three Hunters hadn't showed signs of using and dumping him. Celia especially. Eric wasn't prone to pleading and begging for something he wanted, he didn't pray to some power for what he wanted or needed. He didn't have that kind of faith in him anymore. He refused to ask… but Eric Myers was not above bargaining with whatever it was that controlled the universe.

Eric figured if he doled out a little of himself at a time, gave up small shards of his soul, that in return the superpowers would continue to will his fragile bond with Celia into existence and might even start cultivating a thread between himself and the two brothers.

With a soft breath, Eric wrenched loose another shard and offered it up to the pact.

Eric started to push himself up, he winced as pain flared and then sharpened in his torso before spreading to his joints. His sore and bruised muscles had stiffened and locked up at his awkward upright position in the corner of the couch. Painkillers had tricked him into thinking the pain was dulled. Eric buckled and sank back into his place in the corner of the couch.

He looked up at Celia; bone weary and broken, he let out an exhausted breath and swallowed

thickly. "Little help…?" he whispered bitterly.

Without hesitation, Celia bent and snaked an arm under his and wrapped it around his shoulders; Eric's head dropped until his eyes were locked on the floor and a flush of bruised pride flooded up his neck. He jumped when a large, calloused hand wrapped firmly around his elbow, he twisted his head so his eyes fell on Dean's steadying hand and the calm face of the elder Winchester.

"Ready?" Celia prompted.

"Yeah," Eric rasped.

Celia braced and pulled as Eric pushed his weight up, Dean's hand tightened and pushed up, adding a third strength and support and Eric found himself on his feet, a little shaky but firm as Dean's hand dropped back to the bottle of beer and Celia's arm dropped until her palm was pressed gently into the small of his back; pushing, guiding and steadying him all in one.

"C'mon. That bed is screamin' for ya." Celia patted his spine lightly, keeping her hand firmly in place until Eric started for his bedroom. She followed close on his heels into the seclusion, Eric winced, and as he made to sit, her hand wrapped around his bicep and supported the younger man until he was stretched out on his back, panting slightly and eyes half lidded. Celia perched on the edge of his mattress, waited until Eric's eyes cast toward her.

"Ya alright with the boys here?" she asked with a cocked head.

"At least they will leave me alone… " Eric sighed, closing his eyes.

"For awhile. I caught a look at yer stash of movies. Don't be surprised if in a few hours yer wakin' up to the sound of them murderin' the numbers from Rocky Horror… especially when Meatloaf starts singin'…"

"God…" Eric muttered, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He sighed heavily then spoke quietly.

"Does that mean me?"

"What?" Celia prompted.

"If I wanted to go to Wounded Heart…" Eric trailed off.

"Hell, kid, I'd be pissed if ya didn't want to go." She gave him a crooked smile. "I would understand... if ya didn't want to go but I'd be pissed."

"Why?" Eric rasped.

"'Cause yer my little brother. What more is there to it?" Celia patted his arm once as she pushed up off the mattress and stepped around it to slip out the door. Eric stared at the place she'd last been and replayed the words over and over in his mind until they blurred together...

…

_**Desert Territory **_

_**Forty miles outside of Silver Hills**_

_**1:30 PM**_

Trip was surprised how something that sounded like it would take hours, such as torching a combat site, was actually easy. The teenage alien was ordered to walk from corpse to corpse, dousing each in gasoline and then get out of the way. Simple as that.

Not that he didn't work up a sweat. The container had to weigh at least sixty pounds and when it was empty there were two more to go through; there was enough blood on the dirt to make it mud and Celia wasn't taking any chances. By the time he was through the second gas can his clothes were sticking to his sweat slicked skin and his hair was plastered down on his forehead and neck. His shoulders and hands ached and his back was starting to hurt.

Celia herself was stripping the destroyed Silverado and combing the battlefield for dropped and lost objects that linked back to the existence of humans here. Her arms were bloody up to her elbows and her hands were full of bullet shells. Lugging the now empty second gas container Trip braced his back against the side of Eric's black SUV and let his head fall back, eyes shut. He panted quietly and tried to get his wind back.

"Ya alright?" Celia asked as she walked passed him to dump the scraps of ammunition into a plastic container and rub her arms with a dirty towel.

"I'm hot," the young man returned. "It's never this hot back home… never this hot in the city."

Celia actually smiled lightly and let a little laugh pass through her lips. "I'll admit that California deserts a little warmer than Nevada, but yer right."

Trip rolled his head to look at her, eyes half lidded.

"It's peakin' above normal," Celia said.

"Why?"

"What yer feelin' is storm heat, boy. Look out there." Celia nodded off to the East, Trip pushed himself up and walked around the SUV to look out over the desert; the horizon of brown earth rose in the distance to meet a sky of churning, blue grey clouds. They churned and rolled, taking up odd shapes. Trip lifted a hand to push up his hair and shade his eyes.

"Is it just rain?"

"No rain in that one. That's a heat lightnin' storm," Celia informed him.

"Heat lightning… is it coming this way?"

"Naw, it's movin' on. That's the storm that's been hangin' 'round here for the last three days.

Rained itself out over the city and moved on. It'll be over the Owyhee Mountains by tomorrow night and be one Hell of a show over the prairies."

Trip cocked his head slightly as Celia lifted the third gas tank and lugged it easily across the ground to splash a fair amount of gasoline over the under belly of the Silverado before moving on to soak each corpse and pile of broken metal a final time before striking the match.

"Is that where you live?" Trip asked, following in her wake. "The Owyhee Mountains?"

"It's the range near my place. Ya can see it from the end of the far pasture," Celia said over her shoulder.

"Jen said that you offered that if we wanted to… we could go and stay at your ranch for a little while."

Celia grunted an affirmative.

"What's it like?" Trip tucked his hands into his pockets and followed on Celia's every move, his eyes flitting over corpses and reliving the violent conflict that only happened a few hours before. Seemed like years ago already... "I've never been in the country before."

Celia stopped and looked at him over his shoulder, her eyes wide with surprise. "Never?"

Trip shrugged. "My family lived in a city on my home planet. We he came to earth as refugees to Silver Hills and never left that city either. Besides, in my time... there's not much country left. It's mostly either cities or barren wasteland."

Celia made a slight face that Trip could almost call pity. She turned back to dribbling gasoline over the bloody puddles of earth. When she spoke her words were a little stiff, she hadn't taken the idea of a wasteland Earth well. "Well, ya know the ocean? Picture that except instead of the sky meetin' water it's prairie grass and red earth desert. Our ranch is about six thousand acres… first ranch on the territory… there before the town went up. Mostly its graze pasture… some backwood and desert scrub. And if ya ride out and look West ya see the Owyhee Mountains and the plateaus. Ride further ya can see the canyons and ravines of the same range. They're a part of the painted deserts, so ya always know 'em when ya see 'em."

"Painted deserts?" Trip cocked his head as Celia led him back to the SUV and set the gas can down, she pulled out a cheap lighter and shook it a few times as she spoke.

"When the Owyhee's rose they were white… like bleached bones in the sun… but one day the Creator made paint and drew the sunset in the sky. When he was finished he had half a bowl left and couldn't waste it so he painted all across the Owyhee Mountains and the deserts… they're all bands of gold and yellow, orange, red, purple and the Creator's paint sank deep into the earth and colored the rock below so if ya dig it's the same below as above… "

Celia flicked the lighter to life, letting the flame dance for a moment before throwing it out into the gasoline soaked earth. Flames sparked and in a matter of seconds roared up and stretched to eat up the blood and carcasses.

"Really?" Trip asked.

"Why would I lie?" Celia shrugged, a practiced eye watching the flames for any that might try to break out of control. Their battle ground had been mostly rock earth and the only true fuel the fire had was the spilled gas but Celia would stay to make sure it dropped to smolders when its job was done.

Trip watched in both horror and fascination as the flames danced and licked on the corpses and the mangled remains of the Silverado; he tried to imagine the beautiful world that Celia described, rather than focus on the ugly one in front of him. But try as he might, he couldn't erase the images that would forever be branded in his mind.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret... any of it. Not the arrival of the vampires, or Celia and the Winchesters.

"I'm glad I met you," he spoke, suddenly. "All of you." He smiled, his youthful face still innocent somehow... despite the flaming corpses and the battlefield that surrounded him. "I like you."

Celia smirked, then clapped his shoulder. "Well, that's good, Trip... 'cuz I like ya, too."

…

_**The Clock Tower**_

_**5:30 PM**_

_Alex's face twisted into a mask of agony and he let a small cry of pain escape through his lips, unable to stop himself; his ice blue eyes stared up at her, full of agony, pleading with her to do _something _to make it go away. All she could do was hold on tighter, pulling his broken body to hers; she pressed her lips to his hair, taking in the scent, then trailed to his forehead and placed gentle kisses on his bruised skin. She could taste the blood and sweat... her tears ran down her cheeks and mixed with his._

_"Alex... " Jen whispered, her voice cracking._

_"J-Jennifer... "_

_"You're gonna be okay, baby... it'll be okay."_

_The world around them flashed into a bright white light, temporarily blinding them, and suddenly, Jen was sitting in a chair at his bedside in a hospital, listening to the beeping of the monitor and whooshing sound that sounded like music to her ears... Alex's breaths, in-and-out... in-and-out... she leaned forward in her chair and reached over to grasp his hand, wincing when she saw the bloody knuckles and burned palm._

_His eyelids fluttered briefly, and then his eyes focused on her and a small smile played on his full lips... Jen's heart stopped beating for a moment, she was sure. A smile lit up her pale, freckled face. _

_"I love you," Alex murmured, his voice thick and slurred from fatigue and medication._

_"I love you too... " she stood, bending over him and kissing his lips as she ran her fingers through his hair; she closed her eyes, savoring the moment, grateful that he was there, alive and in love with her. Could life get any better?_

_An urgent beeping noise shot through her like cold steel, and she reeled away from Alex to stare in horror at the monitor that was now showing a flat, red line across its screen... "No, no, no, no," she muttered frantically, and turned back to Alex, a part of her certain it was all a mistake. The computer was malfunctioning..._

_"ALEX!!!!"_

_Her scream echoed eerily as suddenly the lights in the hospital went out and left her alone in the dark... with Alex's rotten corpse, his piercing blue eyes still staring at her..._

"Alex!"

Jen flung herself onto her back from the fetal position she had been sleeping in, and then sat up, panting heavily and drenched in sweat but shivering violently; letting out a tiny whimper, she swung her legs over her cot and stood on the wooden floor on her bare feet. The pink tank top she was wearing clung to her skin from the sweat, the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood upright... she shuddered again, then started when she heard a moan coming from downstairs.

"Wes!" she gasped, and instantly took off down the ladder to check on the Red Ranger.

His eyes were open and gazing up at the ceiling, his mouth was twisted in a grimace, his face was pale and sweaty; Jen picked up her pace and hurried to his side, grabbing his hand and holding it between her own as she spoke: "Wes... are you okay?"

"Jen?" Wes muttered... he sounded surprised that she was there, and she couldn't imagine why.

"I'm here," she assured him, rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. "Are you in a lot of pain?" To her surprise, she found that the thought of him in pain hurt her more than she expected it would; if Wes was in pain, she wanted to stop it, she would do anything to make it stop. Just like she hadn't been able to for...

"It's not... that bad," Wes sighed, "Not really."

Jen smirked. "You don't have to lie, you know," she said, gently. "Celia left some morphine behind, in case you woke up and it was too much... you really took a beating." Her eyebrows pulled together with concern as he flinched again; she brushed away a strand of blond hair from his sweaty forehead. "She offered to let us stay at her ranch for a little while... I thought it might be good, especially for you. Give you time to heal up."

Wes frowned. "But... Ransik, we can't leave the city... open to attack."

"Celia said it's about a day's drive away," Jen said, "With the vector cycles, we'll make it back in no time... if we have to. But I think Ransik is gonna lay low for awhile." Her eyes gleamed. "He needs time to recover, too."

" ... a ranch, huh?"

"Be a change of scenery for you, that's for sure."

"You're no cowgirl."

Jen laughed. "You'd be surprised... "

"What?"

"I was a country girl," she went on, "Before I joined Time Force... small town, big family, church on Sundays. The works. We spent the summers out in the fields, working in the gardens, swimming in the lake afterward to cool off... real old-fashioned stuff, you don't see a lot of that kind of life in our time. Kind of seems like a different lifetime to me now... hey, you okay?" She pressed her hand to Wes' chest, her eyes locked onto his face as he gritted his teeth against another onslaught of pain. "God, Wes... you really... "

Wes blinked, confused by the way she trailed off instead of finishing her thought aloud. "I really... what?" he asked, his voice tight.

Jen rolled her eyes, trying to swallow the lump that was in her throat and threatening to choke her; she blinked rapidly, disgusted by the hot tears that welled up in them. She prayed Wes didn't see them. "Nothing," she told him, quickly. "It was nothing."

"C'mon... " A tiny smile played on Wes' lips. "Don't leave me hanging... besides, you gotta keep talking, it helps."

"That's not fair... using your pain to make me talk."

"Whatever works."

Jen sighed loudly, but relented. She put her hand on the side of Wes' face, tracing the line of his eyebrow with her thumb. "You really... scared me. You were so hurt out there, and we were so far away from anything, anyone that could help. I thought for sure... I mean, you looked like hell. It was just... "

"You thought I was dying."

" ... that thought crossed my mind."

Damn it, those tears weren't going anywhere...

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, her voice suddenly small and broken, just like in her dream; she shivered, and dropped her hands from Wes to hug herself against the chill that suddenly overcame her body. And this time, Wes reached for her... his hand found hers and grasped it firmly.

"Not a chance."

"Wes... "

"I mean it, Jen. There's no way you're getting rid of me."

"You can't promise me that."

"I sure as hell can." Wes squeezed her hand harder, then pulled her closer to him and her hand up to his face; he pressed his lips to her palm, but didn't kiss her, just held it there for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. "You can't lose me, Jen. I'm not going anywhere." He grimaced. "Now, I know you miss Alex... I can't even imagine how much... and I know you're scared something like that is gonna happen again. But you're stuck with me."

Without giving herself a moment to second guess her actions, Jen bent over and hugged him, wrapping her arms around him as best as he could with him laying on his back; she put her head down on his chest, squeezed her eyes shut, and breathed him in. This wasn't a dream. He was real. And he was alive.

"I do miss him," she mumbled into his shirt.

"I know... but it's gonna be okay, Jen," Wes sighed. "You're gonna be okay... " Then he forced himself up, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I promise."

**…**


	20. Chapter 20

**Wow... it's over. This is the last chapter of this cowrite between myself and Sierra. Thanks to all for sticking with this fic for the last two years and through the hiatuses that popped up now an again. We had a great time writing this thing and we're already chasing the bunnies of the ideas of a sequel.**

**We're insane...**

**Anyway, much love all!**

**Mary

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty**

**...**

_**The Clock Tower**_

_**11:24 PM**_

Jen looked around from where she was perched next to Wes, the weakened structure of the Cock Tower vibrated slightly and the low roar of a massive engine and the rumble of an older one rippled up from the street. The sound cut and Jen stayed perfectly still, listening to the drift of voices and the sound of doors slamming shut. Next to her the the black and tan Buckshot perked his ears and got to his feet, listening closely with a cocked head. Slowly, the Pink Ranger rose and her fists tightened, one hand tangled with Wes' squeezed, tensing and trying not to think of who . . . or what had come up on them in the middle of the night.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Trip's excited pitch rose up from the first floor and bounded none- too-lightly up the stairs; the teenage alien burst into the smoke stained kitchen. "Hey, Jen." Trip looked tired but was grinning widely, his face smudged with soot and green hair ruffled as he swept his hat off his head.

"Are you all right?"

"'M tired. After the salt and burn I went with Red to get the new truck. Everyone's downstairs."

Jen narrowed her eyes. "They didn't leave?"

"Why would they leave?" Trip asked, cocking his head slightly. "I thought we were all going to the ranch?" The Green Ranger looked up at her hopefully.

Jen grimaced slightly. In the silence, left alone to her own thoughts, she had begun to second guess her earlier decision to go with the Hunters back to the ranch; the Rangers were the only means of defense that the city had against Ransik and his mutants, and without them . . .

"We'll talk," she said. "Keep an eye on Wes?"

The teen nodded and moved to the side for Jen to slip passed him and start down the stairs, Buckshot on her heels. The ground floor was vacant but a dull glow filtered in from outside. She slipped out the door, wrapping her arms around her torso and walking gingerly around the front of the building to the parking lot.

The Impala was resting nearest to the sidewalk. The trunk was open as well at the passenger side door and the low guitar cords of classic rock hummed from the speakers. The new truck, a Dodge Ram, was parked behind the old classic, it's engine growling in anticipation of the the long trip ahead. Along the 8-ft. bed, set into the frame were a pair of tool containers , their lids open like a pair of strange wings. Across the bed of the truck was a black metal, butterfly styled tool box, it's own lids opened up towards the sky. In the pale light of street lamps Celia, Dean and Sam were working around each other to pack away Celia's salvaged gear into the toolbox and bed compartments.

The doors of the truck cab were open and inside was Eric, curled up, obviously in pain, his eyes half-lidded and his face partially obscured by the thick brown sweater he wore; occasionally he would peek out of the sweater to say something to the Hunters as they continued packing.

The albino Shepherd, Valentine, twisted around when he heard Jen's footsteps and woofed quietly at Buckshot. The older dog brushed passed Jen and trotted up to the other, sniffing noses and swishing tails.

"Hey, Jen," Dean called and lifted a beer to his lips, taking a swig, then set it back onto the roof of the Impala and dug out a large metal box that rattled and tinkled and the Pink Ranger guessed was packed with ammunition. He hefted it up to Celia in the bed of the truck.

"Everyone doing all right up there?" Sam asked.

Jen glanced at the other two, Celia was busy rummaging around and grumbling in the tool box and bed containers but Eric was watching her from the corner of his eyes. "Wes is in a lot of pain," she admitted. "But he's getting over it pretty quick. Everyone else is doing all right."

"Right... Ranger powers. Makes you guys quick to heal." Sam moved away from the trunk to stand next to her.

"It's kind of necessary when half your job is spent in hand to hand combat . . . and the other half being blown up or shot." Jen lifted her chin proudly.

"Sounds like a resume for a Hunter," Dean grumbled and Celia snorted.

Sam glared at them warningly and wrinkled his nose before turning back to look at Jen.

"You guys packing to go?" she asked at length.

"Inventory." Dean tugged out a set of sniper rifles from the trunk and passed them up to Celia.

"When you lose a rig as big at the Silverado you take the chance to really clean out your gear and get new stuff." Sam shrugged.

"Which works out for the Lollipop Guild." Dean pulled open the back door of the Impala, dug and pulled out a worn, black duffle bag and tossed it toward Jen. The Pink Ranger caught the bag, but was surprised at the unexpected weight and fumbled slightly to keep a hold of it.

"What's in this thing?" she grumbled.

"Ammo, gasoline, salt, couple of guns, couple knives, contacts for local Hunters . . . you know, your very own Homemade Hunting Kit. Demon Summoning Spells sold separately." Dean smirked, chuckling at his own joke, and sipped his beer again.

Jen looked down at the bag, then started to push it into Sam's arms. "No."

"No what?" Sam asked.

"No, we don't want it."

"Don't be stupid, Scotts." Eric rasped harshly from his place in the front seat.

"Yeah. Don't be stupid, Scotts," Dean chimed in.

"Dean," Sam snapped and the elder Winchester's lips quirked up in a grin. "Look, Jen," Sam continued, "the stuff you guys were exposed to no one should have to deal with. But now you know, and there's a whole Hell of a lot things out there that won't hesitate to bring you down. Hell, getting killed is probably the least traumatic thing they could do. Don't you want to have something on hand just in case you need it?"

Jen looked up at the ernest face of the younger Winchester; she cast her eyes to where Dean and Celia were watching from the corners of their eyes and where Eric seemed to have dozed off again.

"Katie _did _mention something about the Clock Tower having a ghost." Jen bundled the bag back into her chest.

Dean and Celia's attention snapped around.

"She did?" Dean asked.

"If it's true it's nothing violent," Jen assured.

_"Now,"_ Den muttered.

Jen rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Sam. "Thanks."

"Hey! It's _my _gear I'm giving up!" Dean barked in protest, he looked ready to pout or put up some kind of childish defense when Celia tossed what looked like the suit jacket for a tuxedo over his head. The elder Winchester sputtered and scrambled to yank the jacket away and glared up at Celia, rolling the jacket around his arms and hands.

"Quit bitchin'," Celia said quietly and rubbed a fist across her eyes, yawning, lips curling back and exposing the wolf like teeth. Her back arched with a series of small pops and cracks and she heaved a heavy sigh. "So. What's the verdict?" the redheaded rancher rasped.

"Verdict?" Jen stared at her blankly.

"'Bout the ranch. If we can we want to get movin' in the next hour so it'd be good to know if we got five more to make beds for." Celia sighed.

"I don't think we should move Wes tonight," Jen said, "I'm not a doctor but . . . he needs to rest. At least for a day."

Celia nodded. "All right . . . don't wanna be movin' him around before he's ready." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the squashed pack of cigarettes, offering Jen one-- which she gratefully accepted --before taking a single one out for herself and lighting. "Ya didn't answer my question though," Celia went on, "Y'all comin' or what?"

Jen took a drag off the cigarette, gave it a moment, then exhaled sharply; she met Celia's eyes, and opened her mouth to speak . . .

---

_**Ransik's Hideout**_

_**The Prison Ship**_

_**The next day at 12:50 PM**_

The room was dimly lit, but it didn't bother Frax, his robotic eyes could see just fine as he worked furiously; occasionally the lights would flicker on, then back off, like strikes of lightning in the midst of a thunderstorm. Frax was a robot, but he still remembered human emotion, and as he went about repairing one of the cyclobots badly damaged in the battle yesterday, he felt his anger bubbling within him.

"Ransik!" he cried, "you think us robots are merely slaves to do your bidding--- but no matter how loyal we are, or how hard we fight for you empire, you still treat us like . . . junk metal!" Frustrated and enraged, he slammed his fist down onto his work table just as the intercom beeped and Ransik's voice boomed over the speaker:

"Frax! Get in here right away!"

Without question, Frax raced to the mutant leader's side, finding him laying on the floor in agony, his skin bubbling and weapons emerging from deep in his muscles, poking and cutting their way through. It was a curse left on Ransik after an encounter with another mutant many years ago, a mutant by the name of Venomark, who had bitten him and infected him with a disease that promised years of agony.

That was, until Ransik had located Frax, who was known as Dr. Louis Ferricks at the time. He had developed a serum to counteract the effects of Venomark's bite. Ransik stole the serum, blew Frax's office up, and left him for dead.

"Ransik!" Frax gasped, "what has happened?"

"My serum!" Ransik snapped.

"Oh yes, right away," Frax said, hurrying off to find the serum. He located the box and opened it, glaring at the vials of blue liquid. "Stupid serum . . . " he shuffled back to Ransik, muttering to himself. "One day I'll get my revenge and then I'll . . . " then he stopped, realization dawning on him as he watched the mutant he loathed laying helpless on the floor. He chuckled, staring at the serum in his hand---

"Give me that!" Nadira snapped, grabbing the serum from Frax and bringing it to her father. "Daddy?"

"I'll take this--- " Gluto said as he took the box of remaining serum.

Nadira helped Ransik sit up, then handed him the serum. "Here, Daddy, drink it!" she urged, her voice tight with worry. Ransik gulpe down the liquid, immediately feeling relief as his skin returned to normal, the venom no longer having any effect on him; Nadira looked over her shoulder at Frax, her eyes narrowed, glaring at the robot as he watched, devoid of any emotion . . . except revenge.

And suddenly, he knew, exactly what mutant would be sent to Silver Hills next.

Venomark.

---

_**Residence of Eric Myers**_

_**1:03 PM**_

Celia dropped her cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with the heel of her boot as she leaned against the outer wall of Eric's house and looked at the truck parked alongside the road; it wasn't the Silverado, but the massive Dodge truck would do. The body was sleek, dark red void of scratches and dents that had gone along with the Silverado. It sat on a set of tall, deep tread off road tires. An extended cab, short bed and a frame of black steel and chrome. Not a bad looking truck at all . . .

Dean was under the hood of the truck, double-checking the fluids and the belts before their long drive back to the ranch; his father had taught him well, Celia reflected, never go on a journey without making sure what you're riding in will get you there. Dean had already checked out the Impala earlier that morning, and declared her to be as fit as ever.

"Ya know the damn thin' is brand new, Dean," Celia called dryly.

Dean popped his head up, grinning widely as he shrugged his shoulders. "Can't ever be too careful, right?" he said, hopping down from the front bumper; he shut the hood, then walked casually over to Celia's side, wiping his greasy hands on his worn jeans. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked.

Celia rolled her eyes. "Is the sky blue?" she muttered.

"Oh, come on . . . " Dean chuckled, "It wasn't all bad. We made some new friends." He gestured to Eric and Sam, who were walking toward the Dode with bags full of tools and weapons, stocking up for the next fight. Eric was still stiff and sore, but already improved after just a night's rest. "Myers turned out to be okay after all."

"He'd make a hell of a Hunter," Celia admitted.

"Maybe someday." Dean gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, his green eyes fell and he seemed to think for awhile before speaking again: "Sort of hope he doesn't though." He met Celia's eyes briefly, then walked inside, leaving her to ponder the meaning of his words, and find herself agreeing with them. The life of a Hunter wasn't something she could wish on anyone. It wasn't always unhappy, and sometimes it could even be rewarding but . . .

"Red!"

Sam's voice snapped her back to reality before she could continue her train of thought, and the tone of that one word instantly brought her to his side; Eric stood by the truck, holding his cell phone to his ear and listening as a voice unfamiliar to Celia spoke: _"Looks like one of Ransik's mutants . . . he's attacking downtown. Civilian casualties."_

"Fuck!" Celia spat, "it ain't even been a day yet."

Eric ignored her, then answered: "I'll be right there. You guys just try to keep him busy 'til I show, okay?" He let his arm drop and went to run toward his SUV, but Celia caught his arm first; her face was mixture of emotions ranging from concern to anger, and her red eyes flashed dangerously.

"Are ya outta' yer damn mind?" she snapped.

"I'll be fine," Eric said; when she didn't let him go, he insisted: "Really. Besides, what am I supposed to do? I'm a Ranger. Rangers fight Ransik. That's my _job_--- " he tried to twist out of her grip but found she was still too strong; his jaw set, his mouth forming into a tight line. " --- now let me do it."

Celia reluctantly let go of his arm and watched him as he ran to his SUV and hopped in the driver's seat, not giving a thought to his own safety and health; in spite of herself, Celia smiled a little as Eric drove away, she had sorely miscalculated that boy before. The hardened young man who seemed not to care about anyone except himself, was in fact . . . for lack of a better word, a hero. The term was thrown around loosely, but every now and then, someone actually earned that title, and as Celia watched the black SUV fade from view and imagined what sort of battle awaited the Quantum Ranger, she knew she had found that someone.

"Red?" Sam tapped her shoulder cautiously.

" . . . yeah?"

"We still have a lot of packing to do," Sam reminded her, "And there's nothing we can do to help them." The younger Winchester brother tugged gently, but firmly, on her arm, leading her toward the house. "It'll take your mind off things if you keep busy."

"Seems like that's all I do anymore," Celia said, softly, as they made their way back inside. "Keep busy to keep from thinkin'."

Not that it ever worked. Celia paused in the doorway to the cramped living room, watching Sam walk up to his big brother and wordlessly pat him on the shoulder before going on into the other room; Dean stood still, looked after Sam with an unreadable expression in his eyes, then looked back at Celia and attempted a smile. It didn't matter how hard she tried, Celia couldn't find a smile in return.

Their bizarre life in Silver Hills was over. No more Power Rangers, or Ransik, or mutants . . . it was back to reality again. Back to counting down the months, days and hours until her life was shattered again . . . and this time, forever. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Celia felt a shiver run down her spine and couldn't suppress the tremble that shook her small frame; to his credit, Dean pretended not to notice, though his smile faded.

"I'd better help Sam with that trunk," he said, quietly, "He's such a chick . . . probably can't lift it by himself."

Celia snorted, one corner of her mouth turning upward while Dean went off to help his brother; she folded her arms across her chest and turned away, leaning against the door jamb, attempting to gather her thoughts she tangled her fingers in the silver chain and medallion of her Saint Michael necklace. After a moment of struggling, only one thought remained, making itself known loud and clear in her mind:

_I'm gonna save ya, Dean. _

---

Eric watched grim-faced as the medics loaded another victim onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance; the young woman had a grotesque bitemark on her neck, she was moaning and crying out in pain, one hand was reaching out for something-- or someone --to grasp for comfort. There were so many others just like her, as old as the 73-year-old woman Eric himself had held in his arms, and as young as the six-year-old boy the Silver Guardians had found huddled in a nearby bush, still crying and barely alive . . . but just for a moment longer.

The realization hit Eric like a ton of bricks, it was absolute, it left no room for argument.

He couldn't leave.

"Eric!" Jen shouted, morphed in her Pink Ranger form and running toward him, the other Rangers just a few steps behind her. "What the hell happened here?" she asked.

"I don't know," Eric said, "by the time I got here . . . it was gone."

"It hurt all these people?" Trip said, his voice full of shock and pain, empathetic young man that he was.

"They were bitten," Eric explained.

_"Bitten?" _Wes echoed.

"Looks like the mutant is poisonous." Eric nodded toward the ambulance as its lights flashed and it pulled away. "And it already killed a boy. He was six."

"Goddamnit . . . " Jen sighed.

Katie looked around at the people laying on the ground, the medics surrounding them, and the Silver Guardians standing by, unable to help. "Anything we can do?" she offered, looking back to Eric.

The leader of the Silver Guardians shook his head. "No." He took off his red beret and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. "Just figure out what did this . . . figure it out so I can kill it."

---

_**The Clock Tower**_

_**5:46 PM**_

"The name is Venomark. Time Force captured him ten years ago, but not before he infected thousands of people with his poison--- " Jen stopped speaking abruptly when she saw the Hunters climb to the top of the stairs and pause in the doorway, their faces expectant, maybe even a little hopeful. She took a deep breath, and started to speak again:

"Hey guys," Wes cut her off. He rose from his spot at the picnic table, unsteady on his legs, his body still weak but his voice strong. "You heading out?" he assumed.

"One way or another," Dean said with a wink, slowly sticking his thumbs into his pockets and jutting out one hip ever-so-slightly, relaxing in his position. "You guys coming or what?" he asked. His tone light, almost nonchalant but a deep undertone hung on the words.

Jen exchanged looks with her team, flinching when she saw the disappointment plainly written on Trip's face, but with Venomark on the loose, they had no choice. "We can't leave," she said, "Ransik already sent another mutant . . . he didn't even take a full day to recover." She reached up and rubbed her temple, massaging away the nagging headache. "Venomark attacked the city this morning, he'll be back soon, and we have to be here."

"Anythin' we can do to help?" Celia asked.

Jen shook her head. "I don't think so," she replied, "I mean . . . you guys really saved us with those vamps, but you're still out of your league when it comes to Ransik."

"Jen--- " Wes said, softly.

"No, she's right," Sam said, "The only one of us who could take on a mutant would be Red, and that never ends well." He gave a tiny smile as Celia snorted. "I just wish there was something . . . it doesn't feel right leaving you guys when there's still trouble."

"We can handle this," Lucas spoke up, confidently, "You guys just make sure you take care of . . . those other things." He smirked a little. "The things nobody knows exist."

"Yeah, we've got that covered," Dean said.

"Actually," Sam said, "It's a leap year."

"Morton House?" Dean asked, his eyes lighting up. "Seriously?"

Sam shrugged.

"Hell, that's practically the Hunter's Grand Canyon." Dean grinned widely.

"How far?" Celia asked, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows, interested.

"East Texas," Sam replied. "Jefferson, I think. It's at least a day's drive away, and that's with no stops." He pressed his lips together, then blew out a long breath. "If the legend is true, then the next killing is supposed to take place in only a few days, so we should probably get going."

"Good enough for me," Dean said. He reached out, offering his open hand to Jen, she took it and they shook firmly. "Just wanted to say, uh . . . I was wrong about you kids. You really helped us out here, couldn't have done it without you."

The admission obviously took a lot of effort on his part. "Same," Jen said, "I knew you weren't FBI, but I had no idea you . . . " she smiled. "Thanks. For everything."

Lucas shook Sam's hand and Katie stepped up to shake Dean's as Jen turned to Celia, the two former rivals meeting each other for perhaps the last time, as equals. "You're a hell of a Hunter," Jen said, respectfully.

"An' yer a Hell of a soldier," Celia answered back, taking Jen's hand and holding it in her strong grip. "Don't forget what we taught ya, never know what might come creepin' up on ya in the night."

"I'll remember," Jen promised.

"Princess." Celia called over her shoulder, lifting her hand to Wes.

"Yeah. Hope that doesn't stick." The Red Ranger sighed with good humor as he eased himself down into the couch again.

The goodbyes were over, and then there was the awkward silence between them and the actual departure; the Rangers shuffled their feet almost nervously, while the Hunters tried to think of the right words to say as farewell.

Then Trip stifled a strange sound coming from deep in his throat and hurried forward, flinging his arms around a surprised Celia, who stood still and stiffly for a moment before tentativelly reaching up to pat the young Xybrian's back. Dean snorted quietly, and Sam smiled, while the Rangers looked on, completely unfazed by Trip's reaction to the Hunters' departure.

"Aliens." Celia sighed, carding her fingers in the neon green hair. Trip let out a watery laugh into her shoulder.

"Thought you didn't believe in aliens." Jen accused.

"Well...he's no Mr. Spock." Celia muttered and Dean woofed a laugh.

"I'm gonna miss you," Trip said sorrowfully, pulling away from Celia and looking her in the eye; his gaze flickered to Dean and Sam for just a moment. "All of you. Really."

It took a moment for Celia to gather her thoughts well enough for her to speak, and when she did, there was a gruff tone to her voice that no one recognized. "Yer a good kid, Trip. Don't ever change." She patted his head fondly, then cleared her throat. "All right, let's get goin' . . . long drive ahead."

"Don't be strangers," Sam added.

"Maybe someday we'll run into each other again," Jen said, hopefully.

"There's only so many miles in the United States. We'll be back 'round eventually." Celia assured.

"Yeah . . . maybe." Dean patted Jen's arm, then swiveled on his heel and turned around, calling over his shoulder as he started down the stairs: "You kids take care now! Remember, use Tide for colors on those pretty costumes, not bleach!"

Celia and Sam chuckled, then turned and followed Dean. After a long trip down the stairs they met Eric, who was standing outside in his Guardian uniform, leaning against his SUV; he was pale and still weak, but his Ranger powers would have him healed in no time. Dean nodded briskly as he passed Eric, avoiding any awkward goodbyes; Sam shook his hand quickly and murmured something about "taking care"; then Celia stepped up, unsure of herself, uncertain what to do.

"Watch yer six, little brother," she finally said, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "If ya get yourself hurt I'm gonna come back up here an' turn ya inside out."

Eric snorted. "I don't think so . . . I know your secret now, Red." A smile slowly forming on his face, he mouthed the word _"Christo" _and Celia involuntarily flinched.

"Asshole," she muttered, baring her teeth.

"If you ever get into something you can't handle by yourselves," Eric said, glancing back at Sam and Dean, standing by the Impala. "You call me."

"Sure thin', kid," Celia said, smirking. "An' that goes for ya, too. Don't be tryin' to handle vampires or tulpas by yerself, ya hear?" A hug was out of the question, that much both of them knew, but a handshake just wouldn't suffice; so Celia touched the side of Eric's face tenderly, finding that with that touch she felt the same rush of warmth and affection for Eric as she felt for Dean and Sam, and perhaps even Elijah. He was one of her own now.

Determined to avoid any "chick-flick" moments, as Dean would call them, Celia patted Eric's cheek not-quite-gently and gave him a soft smile. She slid her hand into her pocket as she backed away, pulling something out and tossing it to him with a flash of gold. Eric's reflexes snapping, catching the object smoothly though it sent a a shock of pain through his shoulder and bicep. He dropped his eyes to the trinket, fingering the chain and medallion of a necklace before catching the red head's gaze again.

"For when I cain't protect ya. He will."

She turned to the Dodge and climbing into the cab. Eric remained in his spot, watching from behind his sunglasses as the Winchesters and Celia drove away. He marveled at the events leading up to that moment--- meeting Celia at the crime scene, hating her intensely, gradually forming a bond of sorts with the Hunters and learning to respect them. Celia calling him "little brother" for the first time. Silently, he wondered if their paths would cross again.

But there was no time to think about that sort of thing. He had a mutant to catch, and lives to save. Venomark was still on the loose, and even after he was caught, Ransik would still send others, hundreds of mutants were left in that Prison Ship, just waiting for their chance to attack the people of Silver Hills. And the only thing standing in their way, was the Power Rangers.

So without another glance toward the black '67 Impala that was disappearing around the corner, the Quantum Ranger hopped in his own vehicle, pausing a moment to clasp the chain of the gold Saint Michael necklace around his throat, and got back to work . . .

**THE END**


End file.
